


Écart Mineur

by ceywoozle



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Bingley with a bit of a kick, F/M, Gen, Major Plot Deviation, Retelling, but later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 88,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24595444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceywoozle/pseuds/ceywoozle
Summary: Pride and Prejudice retelling from the gentlemen's perspective with a notable deviation as the story progresses.Erratic updates as life allows.And in case it's not obvious, © 2020 by ceywoozle.
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Jane Bennet/Charles Bingley
Comments: 220
Kudos: 440





	1. Un

“Meryton? For what possible reason, Charles?”

Charles Bingley, engrossed in the letter before him, was unaware of the glare directed at him by his sister and therefore missed the inherent accusation in this question.

“I don't mean precisely in Meryton, Caroline. The estate is perhaps five miles away, but the road is excellent and there's a most charming river, you know.”

“Which will surely flood and wipe out your good roads. Don't be foolish, whoever has heard of Meryton. I know a country estate is  _de rigeur_ but surely there's something available somewhere a little more fashionable. Richmond, perhaps. Or if you must condemn us to the wilds for months on end then Derbyshire has many attractions does it not? And that way we can at least be sure of superior society.”

The mention of Derbyshire finally had Charles look up from his furrowed contemplation with an expression of horror. “Derbyshire? You must be mad.”

“Don't be vulgar, Charles.”

“We only just managed to escape the north of England and I have no intention of going back, not even for Darcy's company as fond of him as I am.”

A moue of impatience briefly marred Caroline's elegant features. “It is unfortunate that our roots should be cause for such concealment, but you know there is a vast difference between Liverpool and the entire county of Derbyshire.”

“I wasn't thinking of our roots. I have no objection to whosoever wishes to know where we came from. I'm speaking of the weather.”

“For Heaven's sake, Charles. Whosoever wishes to know, indeed!”

“Father had no thought to his standing in society. You know as well as I do that he and Mother were very much in love when they married. His fortune and her family were not the driving force behind the match. In fact her family very much disowned us all because of it, so carrying on as if we owed something to their dignity is nonsensical.”

“Perhaps Father did not care overmuch, but you can be sure Mother was very much aware of what she lost when she married him against her family's and society's wishes. It is only her intervention that led us to move in the first circles. Had she not pressed upon Father the importance of sending you to school you would never have met Mr Darcy and you can be sure Father would never have thought of sending Louisa and myself to Miss Blacklock's seminary on his own.”

Something very like a sulk appeared on Charles' usually amiable face. “Latin and manners. I won't say Cambridge was a complete waste of time but what they hoped to achieve with it is beyond me. It's not as if anyone was expected to learn very much. And if I can remember a single book they expected us to read it will be a miracle.” He paused to think a moment and by the expression on his face it wasn't an effort that brought about much pleasure. After several moments he suddenly ejected triumphantly: “Aristotle! There, I'm certain he had something to do with it and don't I sound clever remembering his name? No one will believe that all I did was get kicked about on the rugby field and fetch and carry for whoever ranked higher than myself, which was just about everyone. Should anyone doubt my antecedents now all I have to do is say something about Aristotle and all shall be fudged over.”

“What a jokester you are,” Caroline said with a forced laugh and pointedly turned her back on the rather cynical look her brother turned towards her.

Charles sighed. “How did we get onto this cursed awful subject? School was endured and is happily never to be done so again so let's talk of something better. Like Hertfordshire and all the pretty girls that must live there. Now, what do you think of the name Netherfield Park? I think it sounds quite fine. Trenton says his cousin is wanting to sell but he'll allow me the lease of the estate and the shooting rights until I've made up my mind. It's not Pemberley of course, I know how much you like that house, but it has about a thousand acres of tenanted land should I choose to make the purchase and about a hundred acres of park with what Trenton assures me is excellent shooting. The house has been kept up in a rudimentary way though the family hasn't lived in it for years, but it is all perfectly sound. What say you? I think it sounds delightful. I have half a mind to write to the solicitor right now and put in an offer. His name is Morris and he actually lives in a village called Longbourn which is not three miles from Netherfield so he must know of what he speaks.”

“For Heaven's sake, Charles, put in an offer on a piece of property you haven't even seen on the word of a country solicitor? You must be mad.”

“Well I admit I don't know Mr Morris, but Trenton is a devilish good fellow and he vouches for every word of it. He assures me it will suit my needs exceedingly well. He even mentioned the local society you'll be happy to know and says there are several families of good standing in the neighbourhood. Some of them are attached to trade but he knows I don't care about that sort of thing. They all sound delightful from what he says and particularly impressed upon me the attractiveness of a family of five daughters, all exceedingly handsome and all of them unattached! Can you imagine that? I must say, I very much look forward to meeting them.”

“Five daughters unattached? There  _must_ be something wrong with them, Charles.”

“Fustian! Why should there be? They all sound absolutely delightful to me. I think I'll write to Morris right now and ask him the terms.” He rose and moved eagerly to the escritoire in the corner.

“No! Absolutely not. For Heavens sake, at least ask Mr Darcy's opinion on this matter. You know you will have good advice from him.”

He was reaching for a sheet of paper as she said this and at her words he paused and looked thoughtful. “That's a capital idea, Caroline. I wonder I should not have thought of it myself. Perhaps because he has been rather distracted of late. I shouldn't wonder if he had too much on his mind at the moment. I shouldn't like to intrude, you know.”

“Don't be foolish. Mr Darcy is the most generous of men. What possible objection could he have to providing aid for a dear friend, especially given the intimacy of our family parties.”

Charles gave his sister a dubious look at this, but reached for a quill and this time Caroline watched with satisfaction as he dipped the nib in the standish and began to write:  _Darcy old chap..._

*****

_Darcy old chap,_

_I do hope this finds you well. I was wondering if I could ask your advice. Don't put yourself to any trouble. Send back a time when I might come see you and I shall. Or perhaps I shall just stop by on the off chance, though I would not wish to inconvenience you. Send back to let me know if this is acceptable and perhaps a time though I am near Mayfair this evening and might just chance my luck._

_Charles Bingley_

Fitzwilliam Darcy stared at this missive, perplexed. This was not an unusual reaction to receiving one of Charles Bingley's notes. They tended towards the distracted.

Darcy looked up to tell Higgins to send back a message with the boy but the door was closed and Higgins was already gone. It was likely Charles had completely neglected to tell the boy to wait for a return message at all. Sighing, he began to reach for a sheet of paper on which to write a short note to send off when there was a soft knock on the study door and it opened to reveal the butler, once more returned.

“Ah, Higgins. You're back.”

“Yes, sir. Mr Bingley awaits you in the library.”

Darcy, resisting the urge to knock his head against the desk, merely sighed again. “Of course he does. I'll come down. Thank you, Higgins.”

Bingley, when Darcy made his way downstairs, was restlessly pacing the aubusson carpet, hands behind his back and distractedly humming under his breath. Darcy pausing to observe him for a moment, wondered what great life event could so unsettle such a normally placid man.

The sound of the door closing behind Darcy finally made Bingley look up, and when he did it was with a rather nervous grin that piqued Darcy's curiosity. He knew that look. It was the look Charles had when he wanted approval for something he knew Darcy may not approve of. It was a mix of hopefulness and excitement, tempered usually by a _soup_ _ç_ _on_ of guilty mischief. The expression had been included in the opening gambits to some of Charles' more questionable forays into friendship and flirtation and several outrageous bets and adventures had seen its advent as well. For the most part, Darcy was successful at steering Charles around these uncertain shoals of propriety and the only reason he took some satisfaction in doing so was that Charles never entered these situations with any thought of embarrassing Darcy or harming himself, but because his openness of manner and easiness of temper made him an easy target for the veriest scoundrels the _ton_ had to offer. The situation with his mother's family combined with his honesty and good nature was often an advantage among the soft-hearted of society, but among others it inspired nothing but disdain and mockery and Darcy found it easy enough to convince Charles which of these two very different motives any offer of friendship was inspired by.

Now, observing that look upon his friend's face, he found himself feeling a mixture of relief and impatience. A relief because something to distract himself from the recent situation with Georgiana was sorely wanted, and impatience because there were times when he wondered why it was so difficult for a man of sense and education to avoid such pitfalls as regularly befell him.

“Well Charles?” he said somewhat irritably. “You might as well have saved your footman the trouble and brought your note yourself.”

The nervousness left Bingley's face and a genuine grin shifted into its place. “I know it was nonsensical, but Caroline was hovering and then Louisa came home and I knew once she'd been told the whole story I wouldn't have a moment of peace so I thought I had better leave. If you'd rather I go I shall. I must make an appointment with my tailor anyway so I can easily come back later.”

Darcy's irritation, suddenly flaring, was forcibly tamped down again. It was ridiculous to him that a man could be so lacking in control over his own sisters that he had to flee the house to escape them, but then he recalled his own failure with his own sister and he had to reassess that initial thought. He tried to imagine having two sisters, and two such strong-minded and determined sisters as Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst were, and his mind shuddered away.

“How are your sisters?” he inquired politely.

“Oh, fine! I think Louisa is rather outrunning the constable again but I expect she will ask me to do something about it before things get too far along out of control. She was wearing a new gown the other day at the Lyncroft's ball that I'm certain Hurst knew nothing about.”

It was on the tip of Darcy's tongue to protest that Louisa Hurst was no longer his problem and that her financial maintenance and control was now the responsibility of her husband, but it was an argument that had been repeated multiple times over the course of their friendship and one of the very few points on which Bingley rarely gave ground. So instead Darcy shut his lips tightly over his sharp words and gestured to the brandy tray. “Fortification, Charles?”

“With pleasure. I was feeling quite brave when I left the house but the walk over gave me second thoughts. I wonder, though. I have no wish to burden you. I know you have quite a lot on your mind as I told Caroline--” He stopped at the sharp look Darcy suddenly bent on him and waved a reassuring hand. “I haven't told her about Georgiana. I haven't told anyone, you know I would not.”

“No, of course not. I know you would not break your word to me.”

“I would not have done so even had you not asked me to. Caroline and Louisa are far too fond of gossip to be trusted with that sort of information and I know my knowing in the first place was more accident than intention.”

Darcy gave a sharp bark of bitter mirth. “That is a very politic way of saying I was foxed out of my skull.” The look Bingley gave him was so full of kind sympathy that he had to look away and used the pouring of brandy as an excuse.

“In any event,” Bingley said after an awkward moment, “I could not wish that sort of mortification on Miss Darcy. She should not have to live in the shadow of such a terrible mistake her whole life. I know what it is to have ones trust betrayed by those I thought to be wholly trustworthy. We are both fortunate to have a Fitzwilliam Darcy in our lives to guide us away from the worst of our mistakes.”

“All this flattery, Charles!” Darcy said, forcing a lightness of tone he did not feel. “You must be in some sort of scrape!”

Bingley laughed. “Not at all! At least, not if you would be willing to advise me.”

“Sit and tell me what you're planning then and I'll do my best to keep you out of the suds.”

“Well I shall, thank you. You know I have been thinking of acquiring an estate? I think I may have found one. Trenton has a cousin, I don't know him and I daresay nor do you. You're rather above their touch you see. But the uncle died some years ago and the house has been sitting empty since then. Nothing wrong with the place, just too expensive for the family to run. They've been trying to raise the wind through some sort of alliance but the younger son who they've pinned all their hopes on shabbed off to the border with the family governess. The family finally decided to be shot of the place so you see they've put the whole thing up for sale.”

“Good God!”

“Yes, it was all quite exciting. Trenton couldn't wait to tell me about it.”

“It hardly makes for the most edifying conversation. Has he no thought to his family name that he must gossip of their misfortune to everyone he meets?”

“Oh it's nothing like that. He knows I won't say a word about it to anyone, but he can't stand his cousin so I rather think he needed a moment to admit some pleasure in the man's stupidity.”

“It shows a complete lack of proper family feeling. And if he knows you won't speak of it then you should have refrained from telling me.”

“Well really,” Bingley said, his eyes gleaming with mischief, “I bring you the choicest gossip and all you can say is I shouldn't have told you! You certainly know how to strike a man to his very soul!”

“Don't be nodcock. I shan't repeat it, of course.”

“Of course you won't. As you very well know, I should not have said a word if I had thought you would. Now let me tell you about this house. It's called Netherfield Park and it's in Hertfordshire, not twenty five miles from London.”

“An easy distance.”

“Indeed, it is one of my favourite qualities of the place. I haven't the patience for long travel, as you know. It comprises about eleven hundred acres. About a thousand acres is tenanted farmland which shan't be included if I let the place but there is a shooting wood and a river with excellent fishing and a market town with good shops about five miles away. If I should decide to purchase they're prepared to be agreeable as the land is underfunded and needs some improvement.”

“How much does it bring in rents?”

“I'm not certain. Trenton is sure it at least carries itself for the family hasn't a penny to put into it, but he says it's worth a great deal more than they're wringing out of it now.”

“What is the main crop? And how is the soil managed?”

“How in Heaven's name would he know that.”

“You mentioned a river. Does it flood? Is it upstream or downstream from the town?”

“Upstream, he seems to recall.”

“Do you know what farming techniques are practised? What kind of crops the soil takes? How much of the land is dedicated to pasture?”

“I haven't the least notion.”

“When was the house built?”

“Trenton didn't say, but I'm sure it's in good repair. The solicitor in charge of the sale is a Mr Morris who lives in a nearby village and is an old crony of the steward, a Mr Jones. Mr Jones is living at the house and Morris regularly goes to visit him so he's familiar with it and Trenton himself vouches for the character of Mr Jones. He's been with the estate since Trenton can remember. According to Morris, while it hasn't been updated for some time it has been maintained and won't take much to get it up to snuff.”

“For the younger son of an impoverished family Mr Trenton seems to hold a great deal of knowledge on what makes a desirable property for the landed gentry.”

Bingley looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you know, you sound just like Lady Catherine when you speak in that tone.”

Darcy raised both his eyebrows. “Are you implying something rude, Charles?”

“No, how should I! Who am I to comment on Lady Catherine or indeed your own self? I merely offer a humble observation!”

“You are an impertinent pup.”

“Yes, but at least I'm not abominably toplofty! Come now, Darcy, I know I'm not up to snuff but that's precisely why I'm here. I would very much like to buy this place, or at least lease it and see how I like it. But if you're going to simply sit there and harp on about how ignorant I am I see I am wasting my time.”

“Sit down, Charles, don't be an ass. Of course I'll help you. When would you like to go and see the place?”

At this admission, all hint of offence left Bingley's countenance and he sat back down with an eager look on his face. “If you aren't the very best of friends, Darcy! What are you doing tomorrow?”

“A great deal as it happens. But I can make time next week. What about Tuesday?”

“Capital! I would very much like to take possession by Michaelmas if it should meet with your approval.”

Darcy, holding his own opinion on an estate that had been sitting empty for who knew how many years with only a steward and a country solicitor to maintain it, simply nodded resignedly. Time would tell just how foolish Bingley was being this time.


	2. Deux

They reached Meryton a little after eleven o'clock on Tuesday morning. Charles, who had escorted Caroline to a party the night before, abandoned his initial idea of driving them himself in his gig, and instead slept peacefully leaning against the window in Darcy's post chaise. He was a unexciting companion, the only variation in an otherwise uneventful journey coming when Darcy had first pulled up in Grosvenor Street with a pair of recently purchased chestnuts harnessed to his carriage.

“Oh, famous! When did you get those? Sixteen-mile-an-hour tits, no doubt!” This in a teasing tone that Darcy, who had not gone anywhere other than his club the night before, smiled at.

“I shouldn't like to disturb your sleep by driving so fast.”

And indeed, by driving at a moderate pace, Darcy avoided changing horses and Bingley was left undisturbed in his slumbers until the Black Boar was reached in Meryton. Here, waking from his rest quite refreshed, Bingley peered about him with delight at the bustle of the market town.

“This is quite charming, I must say. The perfect blend of busyness and rest. What a relief to escape the bustle of London! What a good idea I had! Shall we stay here tonight?”

“That was my intention in bringing us here, yes. I have booked us rooms and a pair of horses from the livery stables just down the road.”

“Travelling with you is very restful, Darcy. I haven't had to do a single thing and yet here I am, exactly where I wanted to be with everything arranged. Perhaps I shall keep you around after all.”

Darcy, upon whom three hours of travel with an unresponsive companion had left bored and stiff, did not think this comment deserved an answer.

A decent lunch in one of the Boar's private parlours did much to restore Darcy to good humour and coaxed Bingley the rest of the way into wakefulness so that when they finally mounted their hired hacks and took off down the indicated road in search of Netherfield Park, both gentlemen were in high good humour and spent several miles racing each other between fields and fence posts. Bingley, who's horse ended up being decidedly short winded, cheerfully lost every time.

They reached the house by one o'clock, entering the parkland through a large iron gate that could have been improved by a fresh coat of paint but otherwise seemed sturdy. While not vast, it was a pleasant enough space, emerging onto formal gardens that looked to have been let to run wild. Darcy eyed these with disapproval, but Bingley, trotting at his side, seemed to be oblivious to them, instead contemplating a natural looking lake that formed itself on the edge of the woodland with a self-satisfied smile on his face.

The house itself was a grand affair with two storeys of large glazed windows and a central porch with Grecian style columns. It looked to be no more than sixty years old, its brickwork and chimneys in excellent repair. Mr Jones the steward was waiting for them at the foot of the sweeping stone stairs and welcomed them with a brief nod and a firm shake of both their hands. There was some confusion at first as to who was contemplating the purchase, but Darcy soon put him to rights. While the steward seemed rather disappointed at first by this outcome, he soon began to brighten up again under the power of Bingley's considerable charm.

At Darcy's request, he took them around the tenanted land first, and while Darcy could see many aspects for improvement, he conceded that with little money being put into the estate it could hardly be expected to be performing at the top of its potential. He mentioned drainage ditches to improve the heavy clay soil and asked why the four course rotation method was not being used among some of the tenant farmers and whether he had heard of a new fertilizer from South America. They spoke of the advantages of cattle versus sheep and meadow land versus pasture land and while Bingley had nothing to add to these conversations he listened closely and Darcy was pleased when he interjected with several intelligent questions.

While the parkland and the gardens surrounding the house had clearly been let to go to seed, the house itself was in excellent repair. The air was stale and dusty but it contained no hint of dry rot and Darcy thought much could be improved simply by opening a window or two and lighting a few fires. There were ten bedrooms of good size looking out on the garden and rolling woodland in the back, and out front the gravelled drive with a view from the upper windows through a stand of acers to the road. There was a library, a smaller study that was unfortunately quite dark due to a tree that had been let to grow outside its windows, several reception rooms of varying sizes, and a large ballroom which made Bingley clap his hands with excitement. The kitchens and the servants quarters were also duly inspected, and though Bingley tried to look interested, Darcy could tell he had left his imagination in the ballroom.

Overall, while the tenanted lands were not as extensive as Darcy would have liked, there were several freeholdings bordering the property that were ripe for purchase, and even if Bingley ended up choosing not to do so, Darcy admitted that perhaps a smaller property would be more manageable for Bingley to try his hand at. There was still a niggling doubt that Bingley, who flittered between friends and social engagements like a butterfly, would have the patience for life as a land owner, but Darcy could see no harm in him trying so long as Darcy himself was here to guide his hand. Yes, he decided, he would advise Charles to let the estate with an option to purchase. He could see no fault with that at all.

*****

“It was absolutely perfect and Darcy agrees with me,” Charles said cheerfully to his assembled family members back in Grosvenor Street the next day.

Darcy, standing by the window with his back to the room, was sufficiently nettled to respond to this. “It's a tidy enough little property but it will need a great deal of money spent on it should you decide to purchase.”

“Yes, that's what I meant. It will be absolutely perfect.”

Darcy lifted an amused eyebrow but chose not to respond to the glitter of challenge in Charles' eye. “It's pretty enough,” he said mildly.

“Charles, no really, Charles,” Caroline protested. “Pretty enough? Surely you don't mean to condemn us to the country for a house that's _pretty enough_ and _needs a great deal of money spent on it_ when we are perfectly happy right here. And when London becomes intolerable, Mr Darcy has given us permission to call Pemberley home. It's nearly an insult to say we would rather some poky little estate in Herfordshire rather than the great lands of Pemberley. And Louisa and Rudolph agree with me, don't you Louisa?”

“Don't know about that,” Hurst said easily. “Like a spot of shooting, don't you know. Good to have a place that's in the family and not so far away.”

Louisa, acutely aware of a very expensive dress that still needed to be paid for, offered her sister an apologetic shrug. “It's what Father and Mother wanted, after all.”

“But Hertfordshire!” Caroline exploded. “Surely Derbyshire--”

“I have no intention of relocating to Derbyshire, Caroline. In any event, the only house there that I like is Pemberley and I doubt very much you will be able to convince Darcy to sell it to me.”

She glared at him. “You couldn't afford it anyway.”

Darcy, who had quite come to the end of his patience, said, “No, you could not, nor would I sell it even if you could.”

“There you go then,” Charles said, completely unoffended by this petulance from both sides. “Pemberley is quite off the table so you will have to content yourself with Hertfordshire, Caroline. You may stay in town with Louisa and Rudy if you prefer but you're more than welcome to come with me and keep house. A lady's presence will make entertaining much easier and besides no one knows how to put on a ball like you.”

This flattery had an obvious effect but it was her brother's next words that did away with opposition.

“By the by, Darcy plans to stay till after November at least to make sure I know how to get on.”

“Oh! Well, if Mr Darcy is to go then who am I to deny you. Of course I'll come, Charles.”

Darcy, not in the least fooled by the innocent look on Bingley's face, had no compunction in taking him to task for this underhandedness later that evening once the ladies had retreated to the drawing room after dinner.

“Really, Charles, I do wish you would not use me as insurance against good behaviour. At best it shows your own complete lack of control over her and at worst it encourages her to view me as a viable match.”

“I like that! Georgiana is twelve years your junior. I promise you, you would not find it so easy to keep a sister in check that had been used to clean up your scraped knees and wash your face. Also Caroline will continue to view you as a viable match whatever I or anyone else has to say about it. You've snubbed her so many times already that if she hasn't gotten the hint from you she surely isn't going to take it from a mere younger brother.”

“'s true that,” Hurst said, startling both Darcy and Bingley who had assumed he was asleep in his chair. “Perfectly determined to have you. Sleep with your door locked in Hertfordshire if I was you, Darcy.”

“She wouldn't!” Charles protested.

“Oh yes she would,” Hurst said without malice. “That kind of female, your sister.”

“I refuse to believe that,” Charles said but there was an uneasy look on his face. “Here,” he said, “Why don't you and Louisa come too, Rudy?”

Hurst looked unconvinced. “Lots of bother, travelling. Quite comfortable here, you know.”

“Did I mention that the only place to shop is a market town without a single fashionable _modiste_ in residence?”

“Now that you mention it...”

“Famous! We shall be a jolly party. I can't wait, can you, Darcy?”

Darcy, unable to formulate a response that would not put his ancestors to shame, merely glared. “You're riding for a fall, Charles.”

“Gammon! I'll turn you up sweet again before the week's end, you'll see.”


	3. Trois

At all events, it only took until Thursday morning for Darcy to forgive Charles his impertinence of the night before. Just before nine o'clock, Bingley surprised Darcy by bursting in upon his breakfast in a whirlwind of delighted grins and cheerful greetings.

“I've done it,” he announced, throwing himself uninvited into a chair and helping himself to a roll. A footman appeared as if from nowhere with a fresh place setting and Darcy marvelled at how even his normally staid and proper staff seemed to have bent under the onslaught of Charles' relentless good will. He couldn't imagine anyone other than his cousin Richard being allowed to burst in upon him unannounced to fling himself unchallenged into breakfast.

“What have you done, Charles?”

“I've signed the lease, of course! What a slowtop you are this morning,” he said, allowing Darcy to pour him some coffee.

Darcy paused. “So quickly?”

“I took the agreement to my solicitor this morning. He agreed it looked more than fair so I signed it and he's sending it off to Morris today.”

“Was there a reason your solicitor could not find time to make an appointment to come and see you?”

“I have no idea, I didn't ask. Oh I see! You're worried about my consequence. Have no fear, I haven't any to speak of! I was impatient to have the thing done so I saw no reason to wait upon propriety. He's a nice chap, my solicitor. He invited me to dinner this evening. Caroline too, but I made her excuses of course. Not the sort of thing she goes in for.”

“Not the sort of thing you should be going in for either, Charles.”

Bingley looked at him in some astonishment. “Why shouldn't it be? Very good man, Engel. Some distant connection of Hurst's, you know.”

“Whether or not he's a good man has nothing to do with it. These aren't the sorts of connections you should be encouraging.”

“Piffle! Who's going to know, or indeed care? I'm not a great Darcy of Pemberley.”

“All the more reason why you need to be careful. There is much more latitude for impropriety when you are a Darcy of Pemberley as you put it, than when you are a Bingley of nowhere in particular.”

Bingley frowned. “I know that, of course. I'm not a fool and you've been hammering that fact into me for the past three years. But really, who am I harming? Louisa is married. Caroline, Heaven help me, very likely won't be. She has rejected several offers already in the hopes you might one day change your mind, regardless of what I have tried to convince her of. But she comes of age next year and even if she didn't have control of her own fortune at that point she knows I should take care of her. As for myself, I know my mother had ambitions for us and perhaps I should take more care but I confess I much prefer being happy to being proper. Should the _haute monde_ turn their back on me I would be just as content living out my life in a Hertfordshire country house and learning to become a farmer.”

“That's as may be, but I beg you to remember that by tying myself to your fate, your decisions also reflect upon myself. My credit will carry us far but that does not mean it cannot be sorely tested. And with my credit also comes Georgiana's. Would you condemn her to the outer fringes of society as easily as you condemn your own sisters?”

“Here, I say!”

“You are in a very fortunate position, Charles. Your good looks and happy manners mean you are forgiven much. But the _ton_ is fickle and should they decide that you are unworthy they will then turn to me as the man who foisted you upon them in the first place. I will not risk my good name because you wish to socialise with your solicitor and encourage connections that would best be forgotten. I am very fond of you, Charles, but I have a sister who I must bring out in two years and I will not risk her good name.”

Charles was silent, staring at Darcy as if he'd never seen him before. Darcy felt a pang of guilt but buried it instantly. He spoke nothing but the truth and the sooner Charles understood this facet of their relationship the better it was. None of them were unassailable in society's eyes, and if Bingley were to suffer their contempt it would reflect badly not only on Darcy but on everyone connected with him, as well. He thought of Richard and of his aunt and uncle Matlock and of Lady Catherine and cousin Anne and how justly angry they would all be should he let that happen. They had each warned them in their own way about getting involved with the Bingleys but Darcy  _liked_ Charles, had genuinely found joy in his company and relief in the very simplicity of manners that prevented him from finding offence at everything Darcy said or did. Darcy knew he was a difficult man to be friends with, so he valued the fact that Bingley seemed to accomplish it with such unquestioning ease. So he had ignored his family's subtle disapproval and encouraged and befriended Charles Bingley to his own detriment. Georgiana alone had not questioned him, finding as much pleasure as Darcy did in the ease of Charles' manners and finding some relief in the company of women with more experience than herself. She understood without Darcy telling her that she was not to emulate their manners and pretensions, but their familiarity also helped her overcome some of the crippling shyness that prevented her from making friends easily.

Finally, Charles looked away. He stared at the half eaten roll before him and nodded. “Of course, I understand. I will make my excuses for this evening. I apologise Darcy. You know I am very grateful to you and all you have done.” He hesitated and this uncertainty, so alien to Bingley's ordinarily unassailable cheer and impulsivity, brought back Darcy's guilt. “You will still come to Hertfordshire? I should like your help in looking over the land if I am to purchase it.”

Instantly softening, Darcy reached across the corner of the table and gave Bingley's shoulder a quick squeeze. “Of course. I am eager to help you in any matter that is so clearly for your own betterment. I shall begin to wrap up my business here in town so I may be ready to leave with you in a few weeks. Do you need my assistance in ensuring the house is ready?”

“Indeed, no, Mr Jones shall do all that is necessary. But I must speak to Caroline about what furnishings she likes so I must go now. You'll excuse me, Darcy? I will let you know when I have more information on our departure.”

“Of course. Good morning, Bingley.”

When Bingley was gone, Darcy stared at Bingley's undrunk coffee and uneaten roll and wondered what it was about it that disturbed him so.

*****

Bingley did not see Darcy again until the day before he left for Hertfordshire. A very small part of him was stinging from the rebuke Darcy had delivered, but his larger self could see the justice in what his friend had said and he spent an unprecedented few weeks roiling in guilt that he could have been so careless. Mr Engel, when Bingley had called on him to beg off from their dinner engagement, was all kind understanding and made no mention of trying for another day which made Bingley feel somehow worse.

He had known already all of what Darcy had said, of course, but it was difficult to remember sometimes when town offered so many varied amusements and interesting people. He knew he was often too open. His nursemaids and later on his sisters and tutors had complained about it constantly. How distractable he was, how incautious, how impulsive. But it was hard to remember those rebukes when the world offered such splendid distractions for a man with a happy temperament and enough money to take advantage of them.

But Darcy was different. Bingley knew that Darcy's family did not approve of him. He understood why but sometimes, when he had a moment to stop and think about things a little too much, he wondered why it should matter so very much at all. But Darcy had given him and his sisters a gift when he befriended them and Bingley was determined that it would not be him who threw it back in Darcy's face. He would prove to Darcy that he was worthy of the trust placed in him. He would prove that he could be a gentleman.

Caroline, with annoying perspicacity, could tell something was amiss but did not confront him until a week before they were meant to leave. She found him sitting in Hurst's study in Grosvenor Street, not even pretending to work, and sat down in the chair across from him.

“You're regretting this,” she said flatly.

He looked up, blinking, unsure what he had missed in his distraction.

She furrowed her brow in annoyance. “Hertfordshire, Charles. Is that not what has had you under such a cloud these past weeks?”

“Hertfordshire? Of course I'm not regretting it.”

“You're simply being stubborn.”

“I am determined, that's not the same as being stubborn. Stubbornness implies I am being unreasonable and you know even Darcy approves of this.”

He did it deliberately and was immediately ashamed of himself. Darcy was right: he should at least  _try_ to exercise some control over his sister. But he was guiltily conscious of relief when she sat back and managed to smooth the unhappy lines of her face into something resembling agreeableness. “I suppose since Mr Darcy approves it must be the proper thing to do.”

“It is, you'll see. Think of all the new people we shall meet.” He knew this was a mistake when he said it.

The furrowed lines of discontent were instantly back. “Tradespeople and clergymen? Not my idea of good society, Charles.”

He wisely said nothing and after a moment Caroline sighed and stood up. “Since you are determined to condemn us, I shall at least try to make the best of it. No doubt these country people of yours will be delighted to see someone of elegance and accomplishment for once in their dull little lives. You have no objection to my buying one or two new gowns for the occasion, I'm sure.”

“Naturally not! I won't have a sister of mine looking the quiz. Have them send the bills to me, it shall be my treat.”

She looked as though she wished to upbraid him for the use of cant, but in the end she simply pursed her lips and gave a gracious nod. “Thank you, Charles, how very kind.”

“Not at all!” he said, and knowing how much it would annoy her said, “I'm sure you'll be bang up to the echo.”

Her lips grew somehow even thinner and her back stiffened. “I'm sure you mean to be complimentary, but as a lady I have no idea what those words mean.” And with that she turned around and left him.

He sat back, feeling he had gotten out of that relatively lightly and for the first time since he'd seen Darcy began to feel rather better. There was nothing like teasing one's sister to lighten one's mood.

*****

On the morning of the twenty-fifth of September, Charles bid his sisters and his brother-in-law adieu on the front steps and with an admonishment to Hurst to ensure the ladies did not dawdle too long in making their way to Hertfordshire, bounded into the road where his phaeton waited and driving tandem with his valet and the last of his luggage in his closed travelling carriage, Bingley drove himself out of London. His horses and the bulk of his luggage had been sent ahead over the last week and waited in preparation for his arrival at Netherfield Park.

He took the journey at an easy pace, making the change and allowing himself time to refresh himself, and arrived at the gates of Netherfield a little past two o'clock.

It was an auspicious beginning, conducted under bright blue skies that set the yellow stone positively alight, and a cool but pleasant breeze sending the treetops swaying. The newly hired servants formed a welcoming line at the bottom of the sweeping stone steps with the housekeeper and the butler forming their flank. Luggage was ushered indoors under the supervision of his valet, the carriages driven away to the stable under the supervision of his groom, and Bingley, hovering at the very top of the steps, turned around to look at the newly gravelled drive, the freshly painted gates, the scythed lawn, and the ruthlessly cut back gardens. For the first time he finally realised that, at least for the foreseeable future, this was his, and that thought brought a sudden wave of giddy terror.

He didn't know what his parents would think. Mother, he knew, would have been delighted by the steady increase in their consequence. But Father had been harder to read. He had sold his business under pressure from his gently born wife, but there was that about him that had always seemed lost without the driving force of the business to keep him from floundering and even seemed occasionally scornful of the idle pretensions of his wife. They rarely argued, but Charles remembered overhearing one such argument the night before it was announced that he and his sisters would all be sent away to school. He hadn't quite believed it would really happen until he was actually bundled up into a carriage with his father with his belongings strapped to the back, but happen it had, his father clutching his hand in his own enormous paw as if to hold him back. But he'd gone and he'd survived and he'd eventually returned home, though not before both parents had died from a fever that had swept through the Liverpool docks that his father couldn't bring it in himself to wholly abandon.

Charles, clinging to the memory of that large hand covering his, took a deep breath and forced the terror away. He was made for this. Perhaps this was not precisely the sort of work his father had envisioned for his son, but it was precisely the sort of work his mother had, and it was still work. He had a house now. If all went to plan he would soon have tenants. He had servants and dependants and all the charitable endeavours that came with them and perhaps he would even get some dogs. He would do his best and he would succeed. And perhaps, if he was lucky, he would meet some very pretty girls along the way.


	4. Quatre

_Netherfield Park, near Meryton, Hertfordshire_

_3 October 1811_

_My dear Darcy,_

_Well, here I am, at my own house! What a pleasure it is to say that! Everything is going very well. I believe that's how one is meant to begin letters._

_The house is not up to standards quite yet but I have Caroline's instructions that I have given to my housekeeper and she assures me that she knows just what to do. It is a relief as they mean absolutely nothing to me. I have taken the arrangement of the study and the library on for myself, however, and I must say it is quite amusing. I have never had to direct the arrangement of furniture before and I find it gives great satisfaction. Point here and it is done! Point there and it is undone but to more effect! It is no wonder that you take such pleasure in arranging all about you just so._

_I have begun to receive mornings calls from my neighbours. They are all very friendly and welcoming. I feel you would not approve of how countrified I am becoming. I went shooting with a Mr Edwin Robinson and a Mr William Goulding yesterday. Robinson has an house and small estate that borders Netherfield land to the north west. He is very friendly and open, perhaps a year or two your senior. He has a small acreage and the house is surrounded by a splendid garden and a number of succession houses all of which he tends himself. He has written some books on botany and has travelled as far as New Zealand. I have asked his advice on Netherfield's garden as I know it is not something that interests Caroline overmuch and he expressed a great deal of enthusiasm for the project._

_Goulding's friendship, I fear, is one which you very likely will not approve. However, as you aren't here to make complaint of it I feel justified in ignoring you entirely. He is quite well received in the neighbourhood, however, so I shall continue the acquaintance and simply avoid inviting him over when you happen to be about. There. Is that not a clever solution? He is not at all a scholarly man, which perhaps is why we get along so well! His family owns several maltings, an undertaking of many years and several generations. He's about my age and owing to an unfortunate accident last year is now the head of his family and has purchased a small estate with some hundred and fifty acres attached which he means to turn to rye. He is a very industrious sort and I admire him greatly. He is in constant attendance on Mr Jones, the steward here, trying to learn all he can and Mr Jones shows a great deal of patience and kindness. Mr Jones has also told me that I am welcome to accompany him whenever I wish so that I may be as knowledgeable as may be when I come to purchase. I believe he is hoping I will eventually purchase Netherfield as there are many improvements he hopes to make and a great deal of work that needs to be done on the farms and not nearly enough capital to accomplish it. I have told him that I must wait for your permission first which he did not seem to take as the light-hearted jest is was meant to be so if you receive a letter from him you will now know why._

_Other neighbours I have met include Sir William Lucas, who is very kind and eager to please. I admit he is not in possession of any great intellect, but he has been excessively courteous and has helped guide me a little as a newcomer to the neighbourhood. As onerous as his tales of St James Court can sometimes be, I am grateful for his interest and have gotten on much better owing to his help._

_Then just this morning Mr Harrington came to visit, a very distinguished older gentleman who is quite fatherly and who made me feel as though I were back in short coats. Robinson has told me he has two young daughters but has assured me that I shall not be expected to marry them as they are hardly out of the schoolroom yet._

_Finally there is Mr Bennet, who I kept until last because I feel of all my nearest neighbours it is he along with Robinson that you shall most appreciate. He was an amusing visitor but I'm quite grateful that Robinson was here when he called, for had he not been I'm not certain two words would have been said together. It is not that Mr Bennet has nothing to say, but more that he seems to take a great pleasure in observation and a greater pleasure still in making lively game of those things he has noticed. He is in no way offensive, but he makes me feel positively jingle-brained, which I suppose is where the greatest comparison to you comes to mind! Robinson, who is such a clever fellow, has no trouble keeping up with him. They spoke a little of books and made me feel a great Jack Pudding but were very kind about it for as soon as they noticed they had left me quite behind they then switched to the people of the neighbourhood and had me in stitches with the caricatures they made of their neighbours. Mr Bennet stayed for quite half an hour and it was only after he left that Robinson told me that he is the possessor of the five unmarried daughters that Trenton told me about. They are indeed all excessively pretty, except the middle one who is instead excessively accomplished. The eldest is the most beautiful and the two youngest, who are no more than five- and six-and-ten, are the most lively. It is the second eldest, however, that Robinson confessed to a holding a tendre for. He is of the opinion his case is quite hopeless, however, as Miss Elizabeth Bennet (for that is her name) was rather in the habit of treating him as though he were a fondly tolerated brother. He thinks eventually he shall break down enough to actually confess his feelings but according to him Mr Bennet's state is entailed away which means the young ladies shall be quite penniless when he dies. I thought this meant a sure point in his favour, as he is comfortably situated and she sounds the sort of girl to appreciate an intelligent man, but instead he is cast quite in despair over the circumstance as he believes she may only accept him out of necessity and that, he says, he could not bear. I must say, I pity him. It must be very uncomfortable to be so much in love._

_I leave you on this note, a story of unrequited passion! Hopefully it is a worthy ending to such a long letter. Adieu!_

_Charles Bingley_

*****

_Matlock House, Mayfair, London_

_5 October 1811_

_Charles,_

_I am pleased you are settling in and finding amusement in the arrangement of your furniture and your servants. Your neighbours sound fairly of type for a country neighbourhood and I give you joy of them. You are more of a temperament to find these follies amusing than myself. Perhaps you have more in common with your Mr Bennet than you think._

_Mr Goulding sounds a very respectable man. If it were London I should caution you against the acquaintance, but things of that nature are more lax in the country and as he is accepted in the neighbourhood you could not object to him without seeming remarkable and displeasingly proud, which, for all your other faults, I know you are not._

_Your Mr Robinson sounds a great fool. Given the position of her family she must marry and a position in her own neighbourhood where she might offer a home to any of her unwed sisters would seem preferable to penury and starvation. But perhaps his love is less substance and more romance. Or perhaps he is more shrewd than you give him credit for and there is something the matter with the mother and other sisters that he dreads the chance of being forced to house them._

_Speaking of sisters, I called upon yours yesterday and they both seemed unexcited by the prospect of joining you. I had hoped for your sake that you would have been able to turn their minds to it before you left, but I trust that on sight of Netherfield Park they shall find themselves more enthusiastic. It is a fine house and Miss Bingley shall certainly have something to be proud of in it. However, I am pleased that you have found a different option for the gardens. As estimable as your sister is, her flower arrangements leave a great deal to be desired and I shudder to think what she might perpetrate on an entire garden._

_I leave for Pemberley on Monday morning to escort Georgiana and Mrs Annesley home. I had thought my sister might prefer the comparative amusements of London given all that has happened, but instead she seems to have withdrawn further into herself. I confess I feel a great deal of concern, though Mrs Annesley says I should not worry overmuch for, if you please, when she is not in my presence “she is a great deal easier” which I do not know how to take. I had hoped to inspire affection in my sister, not fear. Hopefully she will learn to tolerate my presence on the journey home. I sometimes wish duelling was still legal so that I might have had the pleasure of running George Wickham through._

_With your permission, I shall come straight to Hertfordshire from there. I shall have my luggage sent to Netherfield straight from London so please expect it in the next two or three days. I am being very presumptive, I know, but I count on you to forgive me._

_Yours,_

_F. Darcy_

*****

_Netherfield Park, near Meryton, Hertfordshire_

_7 October 1811_

_Darcy,_

_What a positively lugubrious letter. (I have learnt a new word from Robinson as you see.) Your luggage is always welcome here, as are you._

_I wish you would not be distressed by Georgiana's withdrawal, though it is understandable that you should be so. Speaking as one who perhaps has more in common with her position than your own, it is difficult to disappoint one to whom you look up to so highly. She probably feels quite ashamed of herself and does not know how to face you. I have some sympathy with her feelings, you see. She will come around in time and being at home where she can feel just as herself is just the thing to help her do it._

_As to Caroline's flower arrangements, please do not let her hear you say so! It is a particularly sore point with her you see. She knows she is quite awful but she will never admit it. Usually Louisa is able to sweep in and fix it before anyone outside the family can see so it is very unhandsome of you to sneak in under the guard like that._

_I have more news of my neighbours so I hope you are not adverse to hearing about them. If so then I give you permission to skip over the following paragraphs until the close, which I promise shall please you excessively._

_I have returned several calls since I last wrote and have managed to meet more of the ladies of the neighbourhood. Sir William has two daughters, one who is very sensible and intelligent and so remains a spinster at twenty-seven, and another who is barely sixteen but is quite pretty and as totty-headed as her father so I do not doubt she shall be inundated with offers as soon as she is out. I feel I shall be great friends with Miss Lucas should circumstances allow. She reminds me of you but with much better manners._

_Mr Harrington's two daughters are of an age with the younger Miss Lucas. You will remember how Robinson joked that I should not be expected to marry them quite yet? Well I do not think I ever shall be, not that I mean to say I would, but Mr Harrington seems to be quite reluctant to admit they might soon grow up to marry anyone! He spoke of them as though they were mere babes and when they came in the room they quite simpered and giggled like children half their age, catching their thumb in their mouth and lisping quite ridiculously. He seemed quite proud of them, however, and once I got over the surprise I found them conversable enough. They informed me that there is to be a subscription ball on Wednesday se'nnight in Meryton at the Assembly Rooms there. They made me promise to attend and I confess it was no great sacrifice to do so. Mr Harrington is the Master of Ceremonies here and I immediately signed his subscription book. I would be very much pleased if you should come. I know you are not fond of a dance but it would give me pleasure to introduce you to all my new acquaintances here, and surely a country ball is less of an ordeal than a London one as it will all be very easy and everyone here seems to be quite open and friendly._

_I also returned Mr Bennet's call and I admit to some ulterior motive here. I have heard of the Bennet girls at every house I've been to and I was quite hoping to catch some sight of them. It was not to be, however. I was ushered straight into the library and after my visit ushered immediately out again. I even wore that blue coat that you disapprove of so much and says makes me look a fop._

_My opinion of Mr Bennet shifts a little with every meeting. He is certainly a bit of a quiz but I rather find I like him. My impression of his intelligence has held, but he is very sardonic and he reminds me of you but less Friday-faced. He has a great many books which should please you and looked to be reading something in Greek when I came in. Indeed he seemed rather put out to be interrupted and managed to get rid of me after just ten minutes, which just shows how much you two have in common. If nothing else you can compare ways in which to rid yourselves of unwanted guests and end in politely removing one another from the room. He has also assured me an invitation to dinner which I must say I am very much looking forward to. I know you disapprove of five daughters all unmarried but everyone I speak to has nothing but good to say of the Misses Bennet. I am terribly eager to meet them all and only worry that when you meet them you shall dampen them all down into missishness with your disapproval._

_Now I have done talking of my neighbours and will tell you what you will no doubt approve of. I have spent some time with Mr Jones and grow quite knowledgeable about soil. I am even able to understand some of what he talks about now when he mentions his improvements. I have also hired on two girls from a tenant family whose father has been taken ill. They are young but Mrs Phipps (my housekeeper you know) assures me she shall find some place for them. I have also sponsored some needed work to replace the roofs of several of the farm cottages. With winter coming it is imperative that the work be completed and I could not stand by and see the anguish in Mr Jones' face as he tried to explain to them that there was no money to do it with, not when I am living in such a great house with money to spare. I am also looking into the purchase of a maltings on the advice of William Goulding. I am going on Thursday to inspect the place and if all seems above board I shall bring the agreement to my solicitor in London to look over._

_I shall send this on to Pemberley in the hopes that it reaches you there. My respectful affection to your sister,_

_C.B._

*****

_Pemberley House, near Lambton, Derbyshire_

_11 October 1811_

_Charles,_

_I will not make this long as I shall be seeing you in a very few days, but what do you mean about this business with the maltings? Please do not sign anything without a careful inspection of the accounts and the property. Ask your solicitor to advise you on who best to ask and do not rush into any foolish agreements._

_I shall not waste ink on informing you that the upkeep of the tenancy is not your responsibility for I know you will not listen._

_Also, please exercise caution with these Bennets and indeed with all the daughters of the local gentry. It will be too easy to find yourself entangled if you are not careful. I know you are fond of your harmless flirtations but recall that your neighbours do not know you as well as your friends in London do and a stray word or action may easily be misconstrued._

_I will send this express._

_F.D._


	5. Cinq

By Tuesday evening, their entire party finally found itself collected together at Netherfield Park, and by Wednesday morning all except Bingley were feeling some form of dread for the coming evening and the dubious pleasures it promised.

Caroline and Louisa, who could hardly fathom leaving town in the midst of the Little Season in order to attend a subscription ball in the country, were peevish all day. Hurst, though unphased by his wife and sister-in-law's sulks, felt there was little justice in coming to a place where he might expect to find a truly decent brandy that he was not expected to pay for, only on his second evening be ushered off to a place where he would probably be forced to drink inferior stuff and on top of everything be expected to pay for the pleasure. Darcy was largely silent and quite obviously in the hips. He had not addressed Bingley's expectations of his presence at the ball and Bingley was afraid to press the issue on the chance his pestering would give Darcy the opportunity to run counter, but it was with undisguised relief that he saw Darcy come downstairs to supper in his ball dress.

At seven o'clock the carriage was ordered and by half past they emerged from it on the steps of the Assembly Room in Meryton where the sound of music could be heard from the street, a lively country dance that had Caroline curling her lip with disdain at the poor quality of the musicians. Charles, who professed them to be jolly sounding and felt sure they should pass muster with the strictest of London hostesses, escorted his party inside with barely concealed excitement completely at odds with the rest of his companions.

They left their cloaks and hats with the footman at the door and entered the ballroom just as the dance finished. The resulting hush from the immediate end of the music and the pause in which the couples reformed for the second set created the perfect moment in which all eyes were suddenly drawn to the disturbance at the entrance to the hall. For an instant there wasn't a single sound in the room and Bingley could hear quite clearly the put upon sigh from Darcy as every eye in the room turned towards them. And then, thankfully, the music was called and everything moved again.

Mr Harrington greeted them with pleasure and as Charles introduced the others he had half an eye on the dancers in the centre of the hall. He searched for some sign that the Misses Bennet might be among them and thought two lively girls with dark hair dancing in line with Miss Maria Lucas and the younger of the Misses Harrington might indeed be two of them. While they all seemed full young to be dancing at a public ball, Charles could not help but note how much enjoyment they seemed to take in it and as they skipped down the line, flushed and grinning with pleasure, he was reminded of the parties and assemblies he and his sisters had attended in Lancashire during their youth before Louisa had married Hurst and they had all ended up in London.

Mr Harrington finally released them and Bingley, with considerable excitement, led them all into the room. There was a busy half hour followed where Bingley greeted his neighbours and made the acquaintance of several new ones. In particular Mr Robinson and Mr Goulding were stood talking in a corner and expressed considerable pleasure at his appearance and Bingley, eager for his new friends to meet his old, made the introductions. Hurst had long since disappeared to the refreshment table, but he performed the office for his sisters and friend and Caroline and Louisa were immediately solicited for the next set and with some subtle prodding from Charles they both accepted. Darcy seemed unimpressed by these two gentlemen, particularly Mr Goulding who's speech and manner revealed the recentness of his family's elevation in fortune, and seeing that his party's presence seemed to be having a damping effect on his new neighbours, Charles finally admitted defeat and moved them on.

Miss Lucas appeared at his elbow, greeting him in the friendly manner of an old and casual acquaintance, and eager to make up for the dour faces of Darcy and his sisters, he immediately requested the next dance from her and was graciously accepted. She repaid this bit of gallantry by asking to introduce to him some of her dearest friends and he readily agreed.

And to his very good fortune, those dear friends turned out to be the family he most wished to meet. As the crowd parted and they came to the other end of the room where a matron was holding forth, he looked up and found himself meeting the eyes of the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. For a moment his breath caught. His heart gave a thud in his chest and he felt a sudden heat in his face. And then Miss Lucas was speaking again and he felt himself bowing in turn as Mrs Bennet and three of her daughters were introduced.

He noted in a distracted sort of way that the second of these was Miss Elizabeth Bennet whom his friend Mr Robinson was so enamoured of, and that the third was Miss Mary Bennet whom he knew by report to be very accomplished, but it was the first that had caught and held his attention. He wondered what his face was revealing right now and thought he might be staring, but Miss Jane Bennet, her own face suffused with colour, seemed to be similarly afflicted. When her eyes were not modestly lowered they were seeking out his and smiling.

He hardly remembered asking her to dance but he must have done as Mrs Bennet was quite delightedly congratulating him on being accepted and finally remembering his duty, Bingley turned towards Darcy in order to press him to dance, only to see his back disappearing into the crowds. With a vague hope that perhaps this slight was not observed by the Bennets and Miss Lucas he turned back again but one look at their faces disabused him of this notion. Feeling rather foolish, he made his bow and hurried after Darcy but for such a tall fellow the man could be infuriatingly elusive and in the end the finishing strains of the current dance signalled that it was time for him to go back and find Miss Lucas for their set. He tried to maintain some degree of indignation towards Darcy, but Charles was not a man made for long grudges and by the time the first turn was accomplished he had completely forgotten that there was any offence at all.

*****

Darcy could tell the instant the first word of his wealth began to make the rounds. He was familiar with the pattern by now. The quick glances, the sly smiles, the hushed and eager conversations, the rush to be introduced. In town at least you expected it. At the start of every Season there was the new influx of debutantes and matching-making mamas but once those first rounds were completed he became merely one more in a collection of eligible men. And at least those one met in town had some pretense to gentility, some degree of eligibility. Here in the country at a subscription ball there could be no possibility of meeting with anyone even remotely worth knowing. Country gentlemen with two hundred acres and city mushrooms with no acres at all. He wondered how he had let himself be talked into attending but knew that it was incumbent upon him to make a good impression for Charles' sake. So he stood and bowed and made polite deferrals to all the importunities that these people sought to make. He could lower himself to appear among them but he would not open himself to any form of acquaintance.

The evening was interminable. He wondered over and over if he had been mad to agree to this. He stood in a widening circle of isolation among the crowd which only Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst dared to penetrate while Bingley danced set after set with a succeeding line of girls. The first one could not even be called a girl and Darcy felt some scorn at the sight Charles made escorting a spinster some five years his senior.

Realising that he must dance at least a little or look ridiculous, he escorted Louisa Hurst onto the floor for a single dance, grateful that she seemed no more inclined to linger than he, and she readily agreed to some refreshment and a turn on the very small terrace in place of the next dance. He took Caroline Bingley to the floor for the set after that and watched with some disapproval at the way Charles was making eyes at his new partner. He vaguely recognised her as one of the ladies in the large family of daughters that Charles had been trying to introduce him to before he managed to escape – no doubt one of the fabled Misses Bennet his letters had been so full of – and noted by the placid smile she wore that the lady seemed tolerably well aware of her triumph in securing a dance with the second most eligible bachelor in the room. Darcy reaffirmed his determination that he would not be the cause of any such self-congratulation from any lady here.

He danced the full two dances with Miss Bingley and afterwards escorted her off the floor to where Louisa Hurst and her husband stood. He retrieved a glass of punch for Miss Bingley at her request and afterwards settled himself in to await the end of the evening.

On the dance floor, Charles had clearly peaked too soon in his choice of partner as after the blonde beauty with the too many sisters, he chose a red-headed girl with an abundance of freckles and too much lace on her gown for good taste, and after her a yellow haired chit that could hardly be out of the school room.

At this point, out of sheer boredom, he considered asking Caroline Bingley to dance again but knew that should he do so it would be tantamount to a proposal and he had no intention of putting himself in such a position. And on the tail of that thought, he observed with some exasperation Charles once more leading the blonde beauty onto the floor. He knew Bingley was tolerably well conversed with the precepts of ballroom etiquette so wondered at his carelessness in singling her out so. London was forgiving of these minor flirtations but it would not do for Charles to entangle himself with the local gentry where hopes and expectations might too easily be raised.

Charles, seemingly aware of this critical observation, suddenly approached Darcy, taking advantage of a break in the dance to step beside him for a moment as he hovered on the edge of the floor in a growing circle of isolation. Darcy prepared himself to make some caustic observation on Charles' choice of throwing propriety to the winds when Charles forestalled him.

“Come, Darcy,” he said, as though completely oblivious to Darcy's disapproval. “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”

“I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.”

For a moment Bingley looked almost taken aback, then cried, “I would not be as fastidious as you are for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening. And there are several of them you see are uncommonly pretty.”

“You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” said Mr Darcy in a tone that forestalled argument, and indeed Charles did not argue.

“Oh, she is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld!” Bingley rhapsodised and Darcy noted with some disgust the mawkish look on his face. Then glancing around, Bingley said, “There is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I daresay very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

“Which do you mean?” Darcy asked, and turned around to see a dark-haired young lady some two years younger than Bingley's partner seated on her own at the edge of the floor. She was watching the dance but she was too near them not to have heard their conversation. The very movement of his turn brought her eyes up to his and upon catching her gaze he coldly withdrew his own and said to Bingley in a clear and carrying voice, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me. I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles for you are wasting your time with me.”

With an expression perilously close to disgust, Bingley did just that and Darcy, feeling that he had successfully depressed the pretensions of a young lady who could not even secure a dance among her own people and who had the temerity to listen in to private conversation, walked off with no small feeling of vindication.

He had gone no more than ten steps when a sudden noise of exuberance was made from the dance floor and turning around to see what had occurred, his eye was incidentally caught by the figure of the dark-haired young lady. She had left her seat and was leaning in to speak into the ear of another lady – Bingley's spinster partner from the first dance – and by the motions of her hand and the meaningful flicker of an eye to the place Darcy had just vacated, he knew without a doubt she was speaking of that overheard conversation. He could scarcely believe that any young lady should so blatantly advertise her own humiliation, but an instant later he saw the sly mocking smile on her face and the gleam in her eye and the answering smile on her friend's. And then they both suddenly laughed and Darcy could feel the swift heat rising to his face as he realised instead of being chastened, the young lady was instead laughing at him.

It set the bar for the rest of the evening. He knew nothing but the acutest misery, imagining the story of his put down being bandied about by the whole room and finding nothing but ill-bred mockery in response. Instead of feeling that he was in the right, he was instead condemned to simply  _knowing_ it while his emotions ran riot in his head, casting their ripples of doubt.

Things did not improve with the next set when he observed Bingley, once more on the dance floor, but this time with that selfsame lady. Not only was he aware of the implied criticism of himself in Bingley's choice of partner, but the lady herself showed no sign of having been put in her place. She instead seemed to be in high spirits, chatting animatedly as they went down the dance and laughing on more than one occasion at some witticism of Bingley's. He stared at her, willing her to look up and meet his eye so that he might have the pleasure of offering her the cut direct, but she remained wholly impervious to the fierce command of his gaze.

He felt something unpleasantly like mortification creep over him and almost imagined sweeping out of the room and leaving these people with their wagging tongues and taunting eyes to their own ill-bred company. He would refuse them the honour of his presence and show them exactly what he thought of their mockery. But unfamiliar as he was with this particular emotion, some feeling of doubt let itself be known that should he do any such thing they would undoubtedly believe it to be some sort of triumph and that his retreat was a result of his own shame rather than their impropriety. It also ignored the fact that he was in unfamiliar country on a moonless night and dependent on Bingley's carriage for transportation back to Netherfield. While some mean little voice in his head told him he would be more than justified in commandeering this for his own purpose, a more reasonable voice told him even Bingley's relentless good humour might fail at this, and in any event neither the Hursts nor Caroline Bingley had done anything to deserve such an ill turn.

But it was with considerable ill-humour that he remained, pacing the edge of the dance floor and allowing his most haughty manner to intimidate any person who made the fatal mistake of approaching. When the dancing finally ended, Darcy forced himself to be patient while Bingley returned his impertinent partner to her family and then stood there as he spoke to them for some time, loudly exclaiming to a growing audience what a shame it was that it should end so early and that he was determined to give a ball at Netherfield as soon as may be where they could all dance for as long as they pleased.  _Early? A ball at Netherfield?_ Darcy was incredulous and appalled. The night had gone on forever and the only thing he could think that would be a greater punishment was to do it all again but for even longer.

It was Miss Bingley that finally pulled her brother away from his new friends and Darcy had never felt so charitable towards her. She met his eye, not for the first time that evening, with a sympathetic cast and with a grateful nod he moved towards the door where their carriage was called and at long last they were permitted to depart. The whole ride home Bingley hummed a country tune under his breath, smiling stupidly out the carriage window, and it only occurred to Darcy much later that it was the same tune as was playing when Bingley had danced with his smiling blonde.


	6. Six

Breakfast at Netherfield was a languid affair the next morning. The ladies were late coming down and while Hurst had long since awaken he had promptly fallen back to sleep on a settle in the drawing room as soon as he had eaten his fill. Charles was distracted but smiling, occasionally humming under his breath as he sat with his coffee, his letters untouched at his elbow as he stared out the window at the massing rain clouds as though they were exactly what he wished to see. Darcy was buried behind his broadsheet and had the look of a man determined to remain there all morning.

Louisa and Caroline came down together just as Darcy was beginning to think he might move to the library – little though the room deserved that name with more than half its shelves standing empty. He was forestalled by Miss Bingley addressing him directly.

“ _You_ did not seem to have enjoyed yourself last night, Mr Darcy. Was the company not to your taste?” And then she tittered, knowing full well what his answer must be.

He was saved a response by Charles' attention suddenly rejoining the company. “I must say, I have never met with pleasanter people or prettier girls in my life.”

“You astonish me, Charles,” Darcy said coldly, though in truth he could think of nothing less astonishing than Charles Bingley enjoying himself at a dance. “I saw little beauty and no fashion and did not hear a single word of interest spoken all evening.”

Charles directed a surprisingly caustic glance in his direction. “Perhaps if you had spoken in turn, Darcy, you might have had more luck on that last point. I imagine many of them might be saying the same of you.”

“For shame, Charles!” Caroline scolded. “You know Mr Darcy is not accustomed to such low company as those of less exalted positions might sometimes be forced to keep. I still cannot imagine why you insisted on us coming here in the midst of the Little Season. Lady Cardross was most disappointed when I told her we would not be able to attend her theatre party.”

“You dislike the theatre exceedingly, Caroline, and I'm certain Lady Cardross was able to fill your place with little trouble.”

“I thank you for the compliment!”

“Don't get onto your high ropes. I acknowledge Mr Darcy has the right to behave as he chooses, but he would not have behaved so abominably top lofty in London.”

Darcy bristled at this attacked from such an unexpected source and for a moment he could not think of what to say. “In London I would not have had to,” he said in a tone of voice that had worked to cow Bingley in the past. “And you know very well that I never dance with those I am unacquainted with.”

The voice seemed to have an effect, for Bingley seemed momentarily taken aback, but his silence did not last long and after a moment, although in a milder voice, said, “And how do you become acquainted but by being introduced at a party and dancing? For Heaven's sake, Darcy, you might at least have thought of my position when you chose to insult every person in the room.”

“Do you refer to every person,” Darcy asked acidly, “Or one particular person and her very impertinent sister, I wonder?”

At this reference to his pretty blonde, the last of Charles' hostility melted away and the stupid grin returned to his face. “You speak of Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth, I collect? Yes, you were abominable to her, you know. Tolerable, indeed! She does not compare to her sister, of course, but I could not conceive of an angel more beautiful than Miss Bennet. Happily, Miss Elizabeth seems to be rather better-tempered than yourself and I found her to be entirely charming and not at all troubled by your undeserved insult. I would also have you know, if you had taken the trouble to look about you at all, the reason she was sitting out of the dance was because gentlemen were scarce. More than one lady was in want of a partner and she showed not the slightest bitterness at having had to give way to her younger sisters.”

“I will not be drawn to comment on Miss Elizabeth Bennet further than I already have. I will concede your Miss Bennet is a diamond of the first water, though she smiles too much.”

Bingley's inevitable retort was forestalled by Caroline and Louisa breaking into the conversation with a demand to be told what insult Darcy had delivered to Miss Elizabeth and when they had been comprised of the story they both burst out laughing. Once their mirth had subsided they agreed with Mr Darcy that while Miss Jane Bennet indeed was surprisingly pretty for such a countrified place, and certainly she smiled too much, they still would not object to knowing her better and that seemed to end the conversation. Bingley, ignoring these qualifications, accepted the more generalised approval and began to plan in his head when next he might contrive to see Miss Jane Bennet again.

*****

In the end, no planning whatsoever was necessary. The Friday after the ball saw an improvement in the weather and at the earliest opportunity that politeness dictated, Mrs Bennet and her three eldest daughters called upon the ladies of Netherfield.

Darcy and Hurst had gone out shooting and, owing to some business, Charles had remained behind. His study overlooked the drive and hearing the carriage draw up, he paused in his work to see who it might be. He knew almost before it stopped that she would be in it, and he watched, rapt, as a slim ankle emerged from the old-fashioned but meticulously maintained coach.

He stared for as long as possible, trying to peer around the edge of the window, and when they had disappeared under the porch he made himself wait several minutes before hurrying downstairs.

He found them in the morning room, just seating themselves, and exclaimed happy surprise at seeing them all. Mrs Bennet gushed too effusively for good manners and Miss Mary, almost as expressionless as Darcy, barely looked at him as she curtsied, but Miss Elizabeth greeted him with a frank and sparkling gaze that told of her pleasure at seeing him again and Miss Jane Bennet...he had to force himself to look away from her but every time his thoughts strayed his eyes went back to her. He could tell she was aware of his gaze but her manners were exemplary and though she blushed and looked down every time their eyes met, that meeting happened sufficiently often for Bingley to know he was not the only one thus afflicted.

The visit lasted half an hour and when it was done he insisted on walking the ladies out himself, handing them all into their carriage and trying hard not to linger too long when Miss Jane's gloved hand came to rest in his. He stared as the coachman drove away and thought he must look the greatest looby on earth but could not bring himself to care. He was grateful, however, that Darcy was not there to see it.

He returned to the breakfast room to find Caroline and Louisa in conference and demanded their thoughts on Miss Bennet. They agreed that she was genteel and elegant company and that they would be pleased to deepen the acquaintance. As for Miss Elizabeth, Caroline declared her too pert and Louisa agreed though said it was not entirely displeasing and that while she did not possess the manners of her elder sister she would not object to knowing her more. Mrs Bennet and Mary were dismissed out of hand. Mrs Bennet was noisy and vulgar and Miss Mary, the few times she spoke, only moralised.

These opinions were reinforced the next day when the Netherfield ladies returned the call, and made addition to upon the meeting of the two youngest Misses Bennet who were declared to be the most outrageous girls they had ever had the misfortune to meet. They spoke of nothing but officers and boasted loudly and endlessly of not having had to sit out a single set at the ball in spite of all the other girls who had spent half the night in want of a partner. They were as noisy and vulgar as their mother but even more ignorant and appallingly mannered and Caroline and Louisa could not fathom how they were permitted to be out in company.

In spite of all this, Bingley, who had been out riding with Darcy when the call was made, was disappointed to have missed the opportunity to see Miss Bennet again, and spent the half an hour before supper speaking on the subject until his sisters both informed him he was being an absolute bore and that they would eat in their rooms if he continued the subject. When he looked to be about to retort, Darcy acerbically told him to cut line and Charles finally lapsed into a resentful silence. But by the time the first course was brought he had forgotten it entirely and cheerfully offered to tool his sisters about the country the next day in his phaeton.


	7. Sept

On Monday, the Netherfield party received an invitation from Mr Robinson to dine at Ashcroft. It was to be a small party, he said, with cards and perhaps some music should the ladies care to play after dinner. The invitation was accepted and on Wednesday evening, in two carriages, the occupants of Netherfield Park made their way thither.

Darcy, who had not wanted to go and was wondering what he was doing in Hertfordshire at all, was doubly incensed when the coach that he and Bingley occupied pulled up to a small country manor to find another carriage still in the drive, and from within it, his insolent brunette just emerging.

It was with some effort that he withheld a low curse but it would not have mattered regardless as Charles was fixated on Miss Jane Bennet, already standing in the drive beside what he presumed to be the father as he handed his daughters out and was not paying Darcy any attention. Remembering Bingley's letters, Darcy found his attention caught by this gentleman who could apparently read Greek, trying to trace out some hint of that caustic wit and intelligence from his expression, but all he saw was a country squire, perhaps not so red-faced and uncouth as might be expected, but unremarkable nonetheless. His clothes, while neat, were certainly not of the latest kick, and besides sat far too comfortably on his frame for fashion. Darcy, who'd had to be forcibly inserted into a jacket only lately arrived from Weston's in London, could not help but sneer a little.

As the last of the daughters were helped from the Bennet carriage, it was driven on and Darcy's coach pulled forward. It was their turn to dismount, and when Darcy did he found his gaze immediately going to Miss Elizabeth. The family had paused in the drive, waiting to greet the newcomers, but Miss Elizabeth and her father were standing together and speaking lowly, a telling grin on both their faces that Darcy recognised from the assembly. She was mocking him again and he didn't even know what he done this time to deserve it.

“Darcy, let me present to you Mr Bennet.”

Darcy blinked and looked away from Miss Elizabeth who was now looking at him expectantly, along with everyone else. Behind him he was aware of their carriage driving away and the Bingley's coach with Miss Bingley and the Hursts pulling forward to take its place.

Aware of what was expected of him, he gave a short bow and Mr Bennet returned it, a bland but oddly quizzical look on his face. “Mr Darcy,” he said, leaning forward to offer his hand.

Darcy took it, aware of everyone's eyes on him as he did and he could feel himself bristling. Did they expect him to refuse it?

“Mr Bennet, Bingley has told me how grateful he has been for your welcome.”

Mr Bennet nodded and there was a brightness in his eye that Darcy recognised from his daughter's. He seemed to remember his duty and glanced around at his progeny surrounding him on the driveway. “My daughters. Miss Bennet; Miss Elizabeth; Miss Mary.”

They all bowed to each other in turn, and Darcy, when his turn came to exchange courtesies with Miss Elizabeth, could not help but judge her reaction, looking for some sign of embarrassment or acknowledgement. But there was only a sparkle in her eye that he thought might be laughter. She always seemed to be laughing, if not outwardly then at something in her thoughts, and he found it both mystifying and galling. With resolution, he dismissed it from his mind, and with determined courtesy offered Miss Bennet the use of his arm and the two of them led the way inside.

It was a small party, as far as parties went. The remaining three Bennets were inside, including the intolerable mother and two more objectionable daughters; the Lucas' which consisted of an unctuous Sir William, his bracket-faced wife, their spinster daughter, a gangly looking son younger than Bingley, and an insipid girl of sixteen; Mr Harrington and his two bran-faced chits; and Mr Robinson.

Mr Robinson greeted them with pleasure in the noisy room, advising them that they were to make themselves at home as it was to be a very easy and informal evening. They were all plied with wine and after taking them around the room to ensure everyone had been introduced, he largely let them be, settling himself beside Mr Bennet and embarking on an animated conversation on the historicity of the Trojan War that he attempted to include Mr Darcy in.

Caroline and Louisa were drawn into place beside the two eldest Misses Bennet and Miss Lucas, and Bingley, hovering uncertainly at first, happily joined them when Miss Elizabeth turned in her seat to directly ask him his opinion on Shakespeare being read versus watched upon the stage. Darcy, keeping half an eye on him, noted that he was not very subtly directed to a seat beside Miss Bennet who sat there and continued to smile.

Hurst was drawn into a circle with Harrington and Lady Lucas and Mrs Bennet, though he was largely mute, and the younger girls and Mr Lucas formed the last group.

At six o'clock dinner was announced and Robinson, taking Lady Lucas on his arm, informed the others that there was to be no formality here and this was borne out by the seating arrangements, of which there were none. They all sat where they pleased down two sides of the long table and dinner was served to the accompaniment of much laughter and conversation and the passing of dishes.

The dinner itself was good, and though Darcy could not approve of the easiness with which propriety and etiquette were put aside, he acknowledged that the food was delicious and the courses numerous. Robinson, who was two seats away from him at the head of the table with Miss Elizabeth on one side of him and Miss Lucas on the other, admitted in a stage whisper that he was trying to impress Mrs Bennet who was known to have the best cook in the county. Mrs Bennet, hearing this from halfway down the table, let out a shriek of laughter and declared him to be a flatterer and began to expound at length on the value of keeping a good cook. That segued into a monologue on just how many servants she deemed acceptable for a well-run house, and was only silenced by her husband loudly breaking in and asking Miss Elizabeth (or “Lizzy” as he called her) if she intended to play for them later on. His wife immediately took up this new subject, deriding her second eldest's ability to the whole table, but adding that Miss Mary was very accomplished and should certainly give them all a great deal more pleasure, especially if she played a jig that the younger girls might dance to. This opened up the subject to the younger girls who all clamoured loudly that Mary should do just that.

Darcy, uncertain if disgust or indignation was his greatest emotion at this display, found his gaze lingering still at his own end of the table and so he caught the rueful glance that passed between Miss Elizabeth and her father. Miss Bennet, who was seated almost directly across the table from Darcy with Bingley at her side, betrayed her embarrassment with only a slight flush, though her countenance was serene as ever. The other guests seemed completely unconscious of the vulgarity of it all, but having observed them for the past hour, he concluded that was either because they were all similarly vulgar or that they were so accustomed to it that they no longer noticed it. Only Mrs Bennet's immediate family seemed to show any sort of consciousness. They and his own party, who reacted to it in their own ways: Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst looked as disgusted as he felt; Mr Hurst seemed wholly unaware of anything but the food on his plate; and Bingley looked awkward, though recovered quickly.

Due to their relative positions at the table, Darcy was in an excellent position to observe Miss Elizabeth. Being very nearly across from one another but two, he thought this must be why his glance kept straying to her. She seemed unconscious of it, for which he was grateful, as it meant he could observe her without her deriving some deeper meaning from it. He could just imagine her triumph should she catch him watching. She would undoubtedly think it due to some sort of approbation on his part and it would be around the county within an hour that she had brought the great Mr Darcy of Pemberley to his knees. Happily, she did not look over once and he was free to watch her and the longer he watched her the deeper his frown grew. Her manners, while infinitely better than that of her mother and younger sisters, were decidedly wanting. She laughed freely and conversed animatedly, even going so far as to disagree on one or two occasions with not only Mr Robinson but with her father, not to mention Miss Lucas who was old enough to be owed some respect from the younger girl. He would have thought this would give them a disgust of her, but for some reason this only seemed to enliven those around her.

By the end of dinner, he was more than ready to go home and never face her--these people again, but it was only the beginning of his evening in purgatory. The meal ended and instead of the ladies retreating to the drawing room to allow the men time for their port and cigars, Robinson rose and proposed they all go there together as it seemed a dull business for the gentlemen to closet themselves away to talk war and politics when they might be more agreeably engaged. Bingley, instead of being horrified by this, rose with alacrity, offering his arm to Miss Bennet. Darcy allowed himself the full feeling of horror, however. War and politics were what mattered, after all. It was this nonsense of dinner parties and flirtation that had no place in a rational world.

There followed cards and drawing room games. The younger girls played a noisy game of lottery tickets in the corner while the others split themselves at three tables for cards. The teams were uneven but Miss Mary excused herself to the pianoforte where she played stiffly in the background. Darcy, recognising her technical skill, questioned her taste as she chose several heavy pieces that did nothing to augment the mood of general festivity and that negatively forced itself onto the notice of the card players until her mother called over to her from her place across from Lady Lucas demanding that she play something a little more cheerful. Caroline Bingley immediately offered to play in her place should she wish to partner Sir William in their game of Whist, but Mary merely informed her that gambling was a sin and proceeded to play something a little more suitable to the occasion.

Darcy, for whom the allures of Whist held no appeal, was instead constantly distracted by the cheerful noise of the next table where Bingley was playing Vingt-un with the two elder Misses Bennet and Mr Lucas. They weren't as loud as the younger girls on the other side of the room, but for some reason Darcy found them more intrusive, his gaze moving to their table every time someone scored a point. Miss Elizabeth in particular seemed to be scoring a great deal, letting off a jubilant little crow of delight every time she bested the others. It showed poor sportsmanship on her part and he was disappointed to see the others partake in the same sort of behaviour, even Bingley who certainly knew better.

It was past midnight before the party broke up, Mr Bennet the first to rise and declare himself quite done in with not a farthing left to lose at Robinson's tables. Watches were checked and there were sudden exclamations made on the lateness of the hour. The carriages were called and the parties slowly departed. Darcy was unhappy when Bingley offered up two seats in his and Darcy's carriage for Mr Bennet and one of his daughters to save their coachman a second trip and Mr Harrington offered the remaining seat in his coach to Miss Lydia Bennet. Thus arranged, they set out, Darcy miserably conscious of Miss Elizabeth (for of course it would be her) facing him on the forward seat.

She and Bingley talked amiably for the short ride to Longbourn where finally she was deposited along with her father at their gates and Darcy was conscious of a sense of relief. Though the coach comfortably seated four and had done so on numerous occasions, for some reason it had seemed overly full with Miss Elizabeth inside it. He could not fool himself into thinking that Mr Bennet had anything to do with the crowded feeling, for Darcy had nearly forgotten the man was there. So overwhelmed was Darcy that it was only as they had stopped in front of Longbourn that Darcy recalled their errand and he had stepped out to hand Miss Elizabeth down, receiving her gloved hand and a smile that had filled him with... _indignation,_ he decided. That she should still be so unconscious of his disapproval.

By the time they arrived back at Netherfield, the ladies and Hurst were already ensconced in the drawing room with glasses of sherry and brandy.

“What a very tedious evening,” Caroline announced as soon the two gentlemen entered the room. “I hope you were not too bored, Mr Darcy. And to prolong it so with a carriage ride!”

“Nonsense, Caroline,” Bingley said, pouring brandy for himself and Darcy. “We were pleased to be of assistance, were we not, Darcy?”

“Certainly,” Darcy said.

“Miss Elizabeth is a very amusing companion, I must say. I enjoy her company immensely.”

Louisa made a slight grimace. “Her manners are too _outr_ _é_ for my taste. Very countrified.”

“Oh indeed,” her sister agreed. “She could not act so in London. I wonder that her mother did not try to give them a Season, but perhaps they could not afford it. Five hundred acres is not very much at all and almost nothing to Pemberley. Indeed, it is a wonder they can even be considered gentry!”

“I was not thinking of her father's acreage but of her person,” Bingley said acerbically. “And I have no land at all so I suppose by your reckoning I am no gentleman either.”

“Don't be absurd, Charles. There is more than one way to be a gentleman.”

“There is indeed, so I would ask you to remember that when speaking of our neighbours, please.”

Miss Bingley's expression showed her resentment at this chastisement from her brother but it was surprisingly Mr Hurst who got them over the momentary hurdle.

“Nice gels,” he said vaguely, blinking into his cup. “Not town manners but very easy. Make a man feel as though he weren't going to bungle it up every time he opens his mouth to say a few words.”

“I couldn't agree more,” Bingley said enthusiastically. “Miss Bennet in particular is so kind and you cannot say that her manners are not perfect, for I have never met a lady so conversible, so even-tempered, so good.”

“Jane Bennet is a sweet girl,” Miss Bingley agreed. “I would not go so far as you, for she lacks a certain polish and refinement that is necessary for a truly accomplished lady. But she is certainly the best of the young ladies in the immediate neighbourhood. We must have her to dine one day, Louisa.”

“Indeed, we must,” Louisa agreed. “And Miss Elizabeth, perhaps?”

“No, for I do not think she deserves any such special attentions. She is just a little too common. Do not you agree, Mr Darcy? We have not yet heard your opinion on our new neighbours.”

“You have not,” Mr Darcy agreed noncommittally.

Everyone looked at him. Even Hurst raised his eyes from his glass to blink at him expectantly.

“I noticed you were looking at Miss Elizabeth a great deal, Darcy,” Caroline pressed. “I cannot believe you admire her!”

 _Admire her!_ Every feeling revolted. “Indeed, I do not,” he said rather more emphatically than was perhaps polite. “She does well enough here among her own people where her eccentricities are known and accepted, but her complete lack of education and refinement is apparent every time she is out in company.”

“Come now!” Bingley protested, but Darcy, warming to his theme, barely heard him.

“She laughs at and corrects her betters and engages in conversations no young lady should be conversant in. Pray tell, what use is Latin and Greek in a wife? And what possible opinion could one such as she have on politics and the war? It is nonsensical. She admitted to Mr Robinson that she was not an accomplished musician when he pressed her to play after dinner, and besides that she ate far too much for a young lady who wishes to make any claim on refinement.”

“I remarked it, too,” Louisa said.

“It is a wonder she does not burst,” Caroline put in. “But I suppose it is all that exercise she takes, for you must have noticed how brown her complexion is, Mr Darcy.”

“I did,” he said shortly. “You spoke of her being pretty, Charles, but you do not comment on the unevenness of her features, how ill-proportioned and imperfect. No, I do not find her pretty. I find her barely tolerable, indeed.”

Bingley, who had been standing with his brandy glass gaping in disbelief at this impassioned speech coming from his normally taciturn friend, suddenly seemed to shake his head. He stepped forward and his brandy glass cracked sharply against the table as he set it down.

 _“Enough,”_ he commanded, and Darcy, who had hardly been aware of where he was or what he had said, suddenly snapped his mouth shut and found he was flushed, his heart beating heavily against his chest. He hardly knew what had come over him to speak thus.

“Forgive me, Charles,” he said stiffly. “Ladies.” He bowed to each of them in turn, noting Caroline's sparkling eyes, Louisa's startled face, the flush of anger on Bingley's normally amiable countenance. Even Hurst was looking mildly surprised, one eyebrow slightly elevated and his brandy forgotten in his hand. “I spoke unjustly. I find I have a headache this evening and must make that my excuse for my ill-tempered outburst. If you will excuse me, I will retire.”

He put down his brandy glass and left them, still silent at his back.


	8. Huit

Darcy came down early the next morning, hoping that by doing so he could avoid having to face anyone.

He had slept ill, the headache he had fabricated turning into fact by the time dawn rolled around. He skipped the breakfast room, heading straight for the stables where even his groom seemed out of sorts. When Darcy demanded to know what was the matter with him, Thomas, who had mounted Darcy on his first pony, testily informed his master that if he did not want to condemn his loyal servants to burnt toast and stewed tea for the rest of their time in Hertfordshire he had best learn to speak of the Bennet chits with more civility. Darcy, his nose rising haughtily in the air, informed his groom that he was more than welcome to find employment elsewhere if he found conditions so trying. Perhaps the Bennets were hiring? And on that Parthian shot he kicked his horse into action and rode away.

It was not an edifying ride. He scowled at a passing farmer and snapped at a low hanging branch and nearly broke his own neck and his horse's legs by taking a hedge at a gallop. He fumed at being taken to task by his groom. He was a Darcy of Pemberley, not some lowly stable boy. He was the best judge of his own behaviour, not Thomas and certainly not Charles Bingley. Bingley, who owed him everything. Who would still be kicking his heels in his brother-in-law's house, invited nowhere and known by no one. If it weren't for Darcy's condescension he would simply be the offspring of some jumped up cit and the hoydenish daughter of a disgraced earl. He would be nothing. Nobody. And Thomas could find a new employer if he took such exception to Darcy's actions. He would tell him so immediately upon his return. He would go back now and tell him just so.

He yanked on the reins to do just that and Bucephalus, who like his rider was the proud result of many generations of careful breeding, took exception to the impatient treatment he had been subjected to all morning and suddenly reared, throwing a distracted Darcy from his back and into a hedge. Having accomplished this he cantered away, his head tossing triumphantly.

It took Darcy several frustrating minutes of swearing to right himself. Every time he turned or twisted, his coat seemed to snag on some new branch, but he finally accomplished his escape and slid gracelessly down into a heap on the muddy verge and after one more stumble into a pool of standing water that did not bear close scrutiny, he managed to find his feet and was suddenly aware of being watched.

Miss Lucas was standing in the road, her eyes wide and her mouth agape.

Aware that he was filthy, scratched, his clothing in tatters, and that he had been using language wholly unsuited to a lady, he felt himself stiffen and his entire face turn red. But he was a Darcy of Pemberley and so he turned to her and with a stiff back and a lifted chin, he bowed to her in the road and tried to tip his hat only to find that it was missing. “Ma'am,” he intoned, as though meeting her in these circumstances was the most natural thing in the world, and after a moment in which she continued to stare, she finally seemed to remember herself and she curtsied in turn. Having accomplished these civilities, he nodded his head and took his leave.

Except that she was standing in the road in same direction that Netherfield lay, so he turned and went the opposite way and as soon as the curve of the road hid him from sight he found a gap in the hedge and, ensuring there was nobody to see him behave so foolishly, squeezed through into the pasture beyond.

Stepping over dung piles and dodging sheep was not how he had envisioned his day going. With every step his mortification and his anger grew. It was this place. These people. Elizabeth Bennet more specifically. She had laughed at him before without any just cause and he could only imagine how she would laugh now when her friend Miss Lucas told her of this, now when he had finally given her a reason to mock him, and he found the idea utterly insupportable. Insolent, impertinent, ill-mannered, and vulgar, a countrified chit without even the pretension of beauty to support her high opinion of herself. As if her opinion, or the opinion of any of these people, could matter. He, one of the most sought after bachelors in the Upper Ten Thousand. Fortune, manners, lineage, looks, they were all his. And what did she have? Nothing. These people were nothing. So why did he stay here and let himself be judged by them and their _d_ _é_ _mod_ _é_ notions of propriety. _They_ were not leaders of the _ton. They_ did not count the peerage among their closest relations, their ancestors among the first families in the country. How dare they? _How dare they._ He would not face them. He owed them nothing. He would inform Bingley that he must return to town immediately, that he had some business that could not wait. He would be very apologetic, for Bingley had asked him for his help, but it was clear he was not needed. He was surrounded by country squires and their underbred families eager to push their opinions on him, so why should Darcy stay, unappreciated and disrespected? No, he would leave. It was the only thing to do.

And so he was thinking when he finally came in sight of Netherfield Park and the saw in the distance the spectacle of Bingley and several other riders including Thomas, mounted in the midst of a milling crowd of stable boys and footmen. He stopped, not wishing to be seen returning to the house in this state, but it was too late. Thomas had spotted him and let out a shout before kicking his horse to meet him. Bingley, staying only to dismiss the rest of the servants back to the house, was soon on his heels.

“Darcy!” Bingley shouted in relief as soon as they were near enough. “Good God, man, you gave us a fright!”

“Do not be foolish, Charles,” Darcy said as his friend threw himself out of the saddle and grabbed hold of Darcy as though pulling him back from the very brink of death. “It was merely a fall.”

“Foolish? When that rag-mannered stallion you call a mount comes steaming back without you and covered all over in scratches? You haven't fallen off a horse since I've known you, not even that bad-tempered brute.”

Mortified even further by this concern, Darcy ducked away from his scrutiny to where Thomas, having dismounted, was holding the reins of both his and Bingley's horses. “You should know better than to kick up such a fuss, old man,” Darcy scowled, but Thomas had never been afraid of him and he merely raised a brow that Darcy had no trouble interpreting as a threat that he wasn't yet too old to give his young master a hiding when he needed it.

Flushed and angry, he refused Thomas' offer of his horse, so Bingley insisted on walking beside him, instructing Thomas to take both horses back to the stables and to ensure the ladies were informed that Darcy had been safely discovered.

As soon as Thomas was gone, a silence fell, but unlike previous times when the friends had sat in quiet comfort together, this silence was charged with an unfamiliar tension. Darcy, remembering the last word Bingley had spoken to him had been in anger was unsure how to bridge this gap. He was familiar with anger, of course, with tense unspeaking silences, with resentment. But he was not familiar with these things from Bingley and so he found himself unexpectedly perplexed.

It was Bingley who finally broke the silence between them.

“I must say, I'm glad you took no hurt, Darcy, for it would have been the outside of enough for me to have to forgive you just now.” The words and the tone were stern, but when Darcy glanced over he saw the smile lurking in the corners of his friend's mouth.

Darcy, strangely unsure of himself all of sudden, realised that Bingley was still expecting an apology and was not entirely sure why. He had apologised last night for his rash and unconsidered words about Miss Elizabeth. Surely that must be enough. His offence hadn't been so grievous as all that, except as it was mortifying towards himself that he should so forget himself. So he chose to respond to the smile instead of the words, hoping that a lighthearted rejoinder might bring them back onto a known footing. If Bingley desired another apology he could have one and it would serve as their parting as well. He had no wish to leave Charles with resentment between them. “It would have been intolerable,” he agreed. “Indeed, let me apologise right now in the event I trip and break my neck on the way home.”

“That's a splendid idea,” Charles returned. “You look as though you've already fallen into one hedge this morning but there are still several on the way back.”

That was better. More jests. There was an undercurrent of provocation in Charles' voice but Darcy did not want to dwell on this. He had to tell Charles' of his departure and he had to do it in a way that his friend did not think he was turning tail.

“Charles,” he began cautiously. “I must tell you--”

But he did not get a chance. Uncharacteristically, Bingley interrupted him. “Allow me to speak first,” he said abruptly, and his expression was that of a man undertaking an unwelcome task, his voice reluctant but determined nonetheless. “Your behaviour since you arrived here has been abominable. I am aware that we are none of us your equals, but your comments on Miss Elizabeth's person were unforgivable. She may not be up to the standards of the _ton_ but she does not deserve such scorn. I have already said that I think your failing to stand up with a single lady outside of my sisters at an assembly could be taken as nothing but arrogance, but last night to sit through an entire dinner without exchanging a single word with either of the ladies seated next to you is the outside of enough.”

“I was under the impression that it was an informal dinner.”

“It was, which is the only reason I have not called you out!”

“Don't be absurd. Duelling is illegal. And besides, you could not beat me if you did.”

“That is the other reason I have not called you out, of course. You know I am excessively grateful to you, Darcy. You are my dearest friend and I have the utmost respect for you and wish you always to feel welcome in my home. But I know too that I coerced you into coming here and pressured you with my expectations before you even arrived when I am well aware that you are not easy in social situations. So I am releasing you from any obligation to me here. You are free to go without any offence, I give you my word. I shall not expect from you that which is clearly making you so very unhappy.”

For a full minute Darcy could not speak. Here he had been on the brink of informing Bingley of his departure only for Bingley to turn around and offer it to him instead. As though he were dismissing Darcy from his home, couching it in terms to make Darcy think he was being done a favour. For a moment he raged, an ice cold anger enveloping his reason and keeping him for uttering a word. But it passed in a moment because he remembered that this was Bingley. He was among the very few that did not manipulate or twist his words or intentions. It was one of Bingley's best features and the one that Darcy valued most in his friend. If he spoke of Darcy's unhappiness, of granting him what he perceived to be a favour, it was because he meant it. More than that, he believed it.

So Darcy breathed, forcing his anger to abate and his reason to return, and when he knew he could speak again he put a hand on Bingley's arm and stopped him.

“Do you wish me gone?” he asked bluntly.

“No.” Bingley said immediately and Darcy believed him, more so when unhappiness suffused his friend's features. “Well, perhaps a little. But only because I have made you so wretched by bringing you here.” And then Charles suddenly smiled. “And yes, perhaps a little because it is utterly exhausting trying to keep you from offending all my neighbours.”

Darcy gave a sharp bark of laughter. “You have made your point. I will conduct myself more circumspectly in the future. If, that is, you will forgive my previous inexcusable behaviour and allow me the continued hospitality of your house.”

Bingley stared at him. “You wish to stay?” he demanded incredulously.

Darcy, who could scarcely believe it himself, suddenly found he could not bear to have his expression scrutinised. He grasped Bingley's arm and pulled him back into motion. “Do not be foolish. Of course I wish to stay.” _Of course you wish to stay? Are you mad? He's giving you an out! Take it, you clod!_

“I must admit, I'm very grateful, Darcy. And also I believe this is the only time you have ever apologised so if you could say it again just for the novelty of it--”

“Above your weight, Charles.”

Charles laughed, then just as quickly sobered. “Thank you, friend. I am very much aware of the honour you do me.”

“Don't be a clunch.”  _You are the clunch, Darcy. Now you'll be stuck here till Christmas and you've no one but yourself to blame._ “I suppose I've missed breakfast by now?”

“Not at all, it's barely ten o'clock. The ladies aren't even normally out of their rooms yet but the stables sent word of Bucephalus coming back without you and it was all over the house within ten minutes.”

“I find I'm quite famished.”

“Good. Is your headache gone?”

“My headache?”

“The one you had last night.”

“Ah. Yes. My headache.”

Charles laughed ruefully. “I rather thought that was the case. Nevermind, it is done. We will all get along much better now, will we not? Now come along, Caroline will no doubt wish to physic you and anoint your wounds.”

“Don't be disgusting, Charles.”

Bingley laughed and did not appear to be at all repentant.


	9. Neuf

Mrs Long's was the next entertainment the Netherfield party found themselves at. A convivial evening of music and cards and perhaps, should the younger people like, an impromptu jig might be got up.

The entire day leading up to it, Darcy was in an agitation of nerves thinking of his trip into the hedge under Miss Lucas' eye. It was strange that word had not yet filtered back to Netherfield of his ignominious display, but it was possible he had simply not yet heard of it. He wondered if he would be met with outright laughter at the party or if the people here would be more subtle, smirking behind their hands and making innuendos over their drinks. He fretted all day, alternately bad-tempered and despairing until even Bingley excused him to the library and let him be.

It turned out to be all for nought. Not only did no one laugh, no one seemed to care very much about the incident at all. Only Mrs Long made any mention of it, saying when she greeted him that she was happy to see he had not been injured in the fall as she had heard his horse was very unpredictable and brutish and she was very glad that her son had never expressed a wish to ride as it would have sent her into palpitations. He had tensed, but no more seemed to be forthcoming and it was only afterwards that Bingley whispered in his ear that Mrs Long's son had died almost three years prior so was unlikely to want to ride anywhere.

Mrs Long was a comfortable widow of uncertain years and temper. She had no daughters and her only son had died at Corunna. She had a great number of brothers and sisters, however, who at different times furnished her with their own various children in order to provide her with some entertainment and themselves with some respite. It was not a coincidence that at this particular time she had been sent several of her nieces, all of whom shared among them a comfortable distribution of looks, temper, and moderate fortune. There were four of them, all goodhearted girls of an age ranging between eighteen and twenty and all more than ready to be fallen in love with.

There were uneven numbers once again, no great surprise given the depredations of the French upstart on Britain's supply of brave young men, so no one found any fault when after dinner the young ladies partnered each other or their younger brothers in several lively dances.

Darcy, whose opinion of impromptu dances had never been high, found himself once again in a widening circle of alienation. He was relieved that, being considered a more mature gentleman in comparison to the party of youthful frolickers making chaos out of Mrs Long's drawing room, he would not be expected to take part in the dancing. On the other hand, he was aware that Bingley had an expectant eye on him and that he had – rashly – promised that he would try a little harder to be sociable.

To that end, he looked around in the hopes of some rational conversation and his eye landed on Mr Robinson, who stood watching the dancing with a tolerant smile only a few feet to his left.

After several futile minutes of willing Mr Robinson to glance over at him in order to begin a conversation, Darcy finally moved to his side and coughed.

Edwin Robinson, who had been intent on watching Lizzy skipping down the line with Will Lucas, did not notice at first that his attention was being sought, and it was only when he finally felt a light touch on his shoulder that he startled and looked over to find Mr Darcy scowling darkly at him from over his shoulder and apparently trying to clear his throat of some obstruction.

“Mr Darcy,” he said in some surprise. “Forgive me, can I find you something to clear your throat? Mrs Long will undoubtedly have some porter.”

The scowl deepened. “No,” Mr Darcy said, sounding offended. And then after several long seconds added: “Thank you.”

Robinson, feeling faintly bewildered, nodded. He waited several more seconds for some sort of follow up but Mr Darcy simply continued to glare at him. Wondering if perhaps the younger gentleman was expecting something more from him, Robinson gestured to the dancers. “Do you not take a turn? I believe the young ladies would be delighted for a chance to partner a gentleman rather than one another.”

There was a silence in which the offence seemed to deepen. “No,” Mr Darcy said again.

As there didn't seem to be anything else forthcoming this time, Robinson nodded politely and turned back to the dancers, considering his obligations to the difficult man fulfilled. So he was surprised when there was a movement on his right and he turned his head to find Mr Darcy had moved to stand closer to him.

Mr Darcy cleared his throat again.

Robinson, uncertain if he should be amused or exasperated by now, said, “Is there something you wished to say, Mr Darcy?”

“No,” Mr Darcy said once again, and as if finally realising that perhaps this was not quite enough, continued on to say, “The young ladies seem to enjoy dancing.”

Not entirely certain how to answer this, Robinson merely agreed.

“It is not an activity I find convivial to an evening out,” Darcy continued.

“You must find yourself constantly disappointed, then. I find most evenings out include some form of it or another. London especially must be very trying to you during the Season.”

“Have you been to London, Mr Robinson?”

“On one or two occasions. I confess I prefer the friendly intimacy of home.”

The expression on Mr Darcy's face seemed to lighten a little at this. “Indeed, it is comfortable being where one is known. Everyone's foibles and failings have already been identified and thus disappointment impossible.”

As this was not quite what Robinson had been thinking of when he spoke of the comforts of home, he found himself replying somewhat satirically, “Have you never been disappointed by, or been disappointing to, those you know, Mr Darcy? You are very fortunate.”

“Of course, you are very right. I suppose disappointment is inevitable.”

Robinson, who had not come to a party expecting to be depressed, decided a complete change of subject to be in order.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet is looking very well this evening. Are you familiar with the young lady? I noted you observing her at Ashcroft the other evening and wondered if perhaps you had a previous acquaintance.”

Darcy looked surprised. “No, how should I?”

“The Bennets have family in London among whom Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth are decided favourites. They will sometimes go for long visits. I thought perhaps you had come across them there.”

Understanding suddenly how Miss Jane Bennet had come to be in possession of manners that were not copied by her younger sisters or mother, Darcy found his gaze once more riveted on Miss Elizabeth. Relatives in London, yes, he could see it now that Mr Robinson mentioned it. He could see how her irreverence and insolence might be perceived as fresh-faced originality among the insipid debutantes and world-weary matrons.

“Miss Elizabeth is very lively,” he offered.

“She is; a breath of fresh air. I have never met anyone who could not be charmed by her.” He was smiling as he said it, his expression saying what his words did not: _I have been wholly charmed by her._

Darcy, feeling as though he must say something, attempted a compliment. “She is a very graceful dancer.”

“Yes, I suppose she is. But I find I am mostly captivated by the warmth of her wit. She has the rare talent for laughing at one without causing offence.”

Darcy could feel his chin drawing itself up at this. “You speak as one who has had the experience.”

“Indeed I have!” Robinson laughed. “After all, who among us can claim to be wholly absolved of foolishness on occasion?”

“And I suppose the lady is equally delighted to be laughed at,” Darcy said, trying to keep the sneer from his voice. He had never met a lady able to admit to her own folly and did not expect Miss Elizabeth to be as original as all that.

“But of course,” Robinson said cheerfully. “I have more than once done just that. It is very satisfying to laugh at ones neighbours, is it not?”

“It seems excessively ill-mannered to me,” Darcy said bluntly, feeling oddly offended by the easiness with which these people observed life. Folly should be avoided, not celebrated and trumpeted about the neighbourhood. If a fault was perceived it should be corrected and learned from, not laughed at.

“It can be, of course, when not done in a spirit of friendly jest. There are those who will always go out of their way to find fault and use that knowledge to the disadvantage of others. But I flatter myself that I am not among them and I say with confidence that neither is Miss Elizabeth.”

Darcy, deciding that the most diplomatic thing to do was to say nothing, made a noncommittal sound and continued to watch Miss Elizabeth. The song had changed while he had been talking to Mr Robinson and she was now going down the steps with Mr Aled Jones, a youth he recognised as being somehow connected to Netherfield's steward.

Robinson looked at Darcy. “You are certain you do not know her?”

“Most certain.”

“Interesting.”

He shot Mr Robinson a suspicious look but that gentlemen had already turned back to the dancers and there was something like laughter in his profile that made Darcy wary of asking.

“Don't be alarmed, sir,” Robinson said after a moment. “I shall not reveal your secret.”

“My secret?”

“Your fascination with Miss Elizabeth. But I should tell you that you will not have an easy time of it. She is rather used to her independence and would likely take exception to being bridled by the  _ton._ ”

Darcy's face flamed. _Fascinated with Elizabeth Bennet? He? And was this country squire making some reference to marriage between them?_ Every feeling was outraged. He said with the full power of his lineage behind him, “You mistake, sir.”

“Do I? Forgive me, then,” Robinson said and bowed, but Darcy did not miss the amusement in the man's eyes when he lifted them to Darcy once again and Darcy, feeling as though he had been slapped, made an abrupt bow and turned his back. He could swear Robinson was smirking.

_Fascinated? Me?_

He found himself on the other end of the drawing room where Charles was speaking with Miss Bennet and Louisa Hurst. He wanted to join them, prove to himself and to anyone watching him that he was in control of himself, but he found he was not. He was flushed still and the music was grating on him, making his jaw clench and his breath quicken. He wanted to be away from these people, from this noise, but he could not leave. He had told Bingley he would try and he would be damned if he let himself be overcome by a country squire who had little judgment and no manners.  _Fascinated be damned._ It was not his fault the girl was everywhere, seated across from him at meals and making a spectacle of herself in drawing rooms.

But no. He forced himself to be rational, to be just. She had danced, true, but while he abhorred the informality of impromptu dances, it was an accepted practice in close parties and she was, to be fair, a pleasant and graceful dancer with a light figure and an easy way with her partner. Perhaps she laughed too openly for accepted London etiquette, but after all, this was not London and she very likely behaved differently when staying with her relations there. Young ladies were nothing if not excellent manipulators, changing their manners and opinions as often as they changed their gowns. He wondered that he had not seen her there but thought perhaps he had and had simply not taken any notice. London was full of graceful dancers, after all, and the unfashionable daughter of a member of the minor gentry could never be of interest to him.

He stalked the edges of the drawing room until finally the dance ended and Mrs Long called everyone in to cards where he found himself paired with one of Mrs Long's nieces. She was an unexacting partner though decidedly less than brilliant. She simpered and giggled and agreed with everything he said and did. He found himself beginning to make deliberate mis-steps in order to see if he could bring her to speak against him but she never did and the only satisfaction Darcy got out of it was losing them the game.

When the evening was over they all piled back into their carriages. He was saved having to sit across from Elizabeth Bennet on yet another carriage ride as Mr Lucas was to escort them home on foot, their house being only at the other end of the village. Bingley protested but Miss Jane Bennet was insistent, and as she was the one being pressed to accept the ride, along with the youngest of her hoyden sisters, Darcy could only be thankful.

He retired to his bedroom immediately upon returning to Netherfield. Caroline seemed eager to have his opinion on the quality of entertainment offered in the neighbourhood and it was made to understand from her tone and the satirical gleam in her eye that she was not expecting that opinion to be favourable. But looking at her, he was suddenly struck by something Mr Robinson had said that evening: “ _There are those who will always go out of their way to find fault and use that knowledge to the disadvantage of others. But I flatter myself that I am not among them and I say with confidence that neither is Miss Elizabeth.”_

Darcy suddenly thought he understood what he had meant.


	10. Dix

Several more interminable evenings occurred. Dinner, cards, music, dancing. Mr Harrington added rhyming games and Spillikins to the mix, much to Darcy's chagrin. Charles declared Spillikins his favourite game aside from Charades, the outcome of which was an unspeakable evening of Charades at the Bennets' house several days later.

By the time All Souls Day had passed and the excitement of Guy Fawkes Day had faded for another year, Darcy felt he had more than done his penance for any offence, either real or imagined. He had held conversations not only with Mr Robinson, but with Sir William and Lady Lucas; Mrs Long and her seemingly innumerable nieces; Mr William Lucas who mostly stammered about his horse before fleeing; and Miss Jane Bennet, who conversed placidly as ever on the unfortunate state of the roads and the affecting situation of the poor. If that was not sociable Darcy could not think what was. Bingley had not said he was pleased, but he had not acted at all displeased either so Darcy allowed it to be a success.

Caroline and Louisa had eventually cornered him for his opinion on the exhausting neighbourhood entertainments. Unlike them, he was familiar with the wearisome rounds of games and diversions necessary to while away a long autumn and winter, but he was in agreement with them that these diversions were infinitely preferable among ones own circle. They all spoke with some fondness of the previous winter at Pemberley when they and a large party had spent several weeks acting out scenes of Shakespeare and Charles declared that they should organise something similar for Hertfordshire in the New Year.

During this time, Darcy had learnt more about the Bennets. He learnt that the London relations that Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth sometimes visited were in fact merchants living in Cheapside and that he could never have come across them under any circumstances. That the girls had an uncle in Meryton who worked as an attorney. That Mr Bennet had an illiterate uncle that no one had ever met but whom everyone speculated about endlessly, and that it was this uncle's son who would inherit Longbourn upon his decease. He learnt that Mrs Bennet was forever having spasms and suffered from her nerves, but that it never stopped her from pushing her daughters onto any eligible male between seventeen and fifty that came into the neighbourhood. He learnt that Jane Bennet, while very pleasant and even-tempered, did not seem to be in possession of any great emotion and seemed to be wholly in the business of pleasing whomever was nearest her. He learnt that the two youngest girls were barely fifteen and sixteen and that their parents allowed them to run wild through the town and village. He learnt that Miss Mary could not sing to save her soul, or anyone else's for that matter. And he learnt that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was twenty years old and could indeed read Latin though her Greek was less good and she could not read French or Italian at all. She explained laughingly to Mr Bingley one evening that it was the result of a careless education and the convenience of her father's library and admitted that she preferred novels and poetry to anything else but that her father made sure she kept up to date on his favourite subjects simply so he would have someone to talk to. He learnt that her favourite dance was a Cotillion, that she found kippers distasteful, preferred tea to coffee, and disliked needlework but enjoyed trimming bonnets. She could not ride but enjoyed walking and she was well known around the neighbourhood for taking long walks by herself, often in the direction of Oakham Mount and on a fine day could disappear for hours and was often spotted by neighbours with muddy petticoats and a bare head when she thought she might go unobserved. A scandalised Mrs Long told Lady Lucas one day that she had even seen Lizzy running Tuesday last week and couldn't bring it upon herself to say anything to the girl's mother for fear of bringing on that poor lady's spasms.

Darcy collected these tidbits of information scarcely realising that he was doing so. He was mortifyingly aware, however, that hardly had he convinced himself and everyone in the neighbourhood that she could not lay claim to a single tolerable feature, when he began to think he had perhaps been mistaken.

She was no great beauty, but he admitted that her figure was a light and pleasing one. She was certainly not of an intelligence to match those found in the literary saloons of London, but what she did have she carried with a confidence and curiosity that was a far cry from the condescending certainty of those ladies. Her features were nothing remarkable, but there was something in the animation of her expression that struck one. And once struck, Darcy found it almost impossible to ignore her again.

He could not speak to her, but he found that in a step towards it he could listen to her conversations and learn nearly as much as if he was part of them himself. It was thrilling and it was humiliating. He skulked on the periphery of her society and prayed she would not notice and hoped that she would.

It came to a head one day in the second week of November when they were gathered at a large party at Lucas Lodge.

A regiment of militia had lately moved into the neighbourhood, enlivening the stale evenings with some new faces and conversation and exciting the ladies with the addition of smart red coats in their midst. The commander of the regiment, a Colonel Foster, was a gentlemanly man of perhaps forty years with pleasant, open features and an avuncular manner towards the young people of the neighbourhood that made him a prime favourite.

Miss Elizabeth was no exception and Darcy was able to listen to her with some pleasure as she expounded on the virtues of balls and the surpassing goodness of anyone in the neighbourhood who would consent to give one.

The colonel moved away soon after at the instigation of the younger ladies and Miss Elizabeth stood speaking with Miss Lucas, who Darcy had learnt was a very close friend despite the difference of their years. Eager to know what conversation these two intimates might share, he moved closer, and upon his doing so was aware of a sudden frantic whispering between the two ladies. He debated moving closer in the hopes of hearing something of interest but it turned out there was no need, for only a moment later Miss Elizabeth herself turned to him and with a defiant twinkle in her green eyes (for they were green, he noted offhandedly) she said, “Did not you think, Mr Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now when I was teasing Colonel Foster to give us a ball at Meryton?”

For a heartbeat he felt paralysed. He was not prepared to speak but speak he knew he must. She was looking at him with interest and Miss Lucas, who was already aware of too much to his disadvantage, glanced between himself and her friend as though attempting to parse some strange animal behaviour.

“With great energy. But it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic,” he finally said, hoping to mimic her own lighthearted jesting to show that he meant no disapproval, but even to his own ears his voice sounded harsh.

“You are very severe on us,” she said, and he expected the smile to die from her eyes but it did not. It seemed only to grow broader and Mr Darcy could feel his heart suddenly and inexplicably give several beats too many. _She understands me._

“It will be  _her_ turn soon to be teased,” said Miss Lucas and Mr Darcy started, having forgotten entirely that she was there. “I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.”

“You are a very strange creature by way of a friend!” Miss Elizabeth protested. “Always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody. If my vanity had taken a musical turn you would have been invaluable, but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers.”

“I am sure Mr Darcy is well aware of our limitations here and does not expect any great mastery. I insist, Lizzy, and I do not doubt Mr Darcy will join me in doing so.”

Darcy, eager to reward Miss Elizabeth's very proper awareness of her limitations and his relative superiority of place, gravely agreed with Miss Lucas, and Miss Elizabeth –  _do not say Lizzy, you fool –_ finally consented.

“Very well; if it must be so, it must.” She looked with some seriousness at Mr Darcy. “There is a fine old saying, which everybody here is of course familiar with: Keep your breath to cool your porridge--and I shall keep mine to swell my song.” And gravely bowing she followed Miss Lucas to the pianoforte, leaving Darcy in such a fine confliction of feeling that he felt they would not be untangled with fifty quiet rooms in which to do so.

Her performance was very pleasing but he could recognise her deficiencies. She stumbled her way through a few of the more difficult passages but she did so with such cheerful unconcern and a self-deprecating quirk of her brows that when she finished she was eagerly entreated for more. Darcy did not add his voice, but he wished very much that he could do so without giving her more distinction than he felt she deserved. He was aware of disappointment, however, when she was succeeded by her younger sister even before she could make any sort of reply her audience. Miss Mary Bennet, the only plain one of Mr and Mrs Bennet's numerous progeny, took her seat and hardly waiting for her sister to remove herself, began to play.

Unlike her sister, she was very proficient on the instrument, but what she made up for in skill she fell far behind in genius and taste. While Miss Elizabeth charmed her audience, Miss Mary imposed upon them, and Mr Darcy could tell by the somewhat frozen silence and the relief-tinged applause that met the end of a very long concerto that her neighbours shared his opinion. She looked to start upon another but her younger sisters rescued them all by complaining loudly from across the room that if Mary wished to bore them all with her airs then at least let it be with something they could dance to. Sir William prevented an outburst of injured feeling by telling Mary that since no one played so well as she it would be a great kindness if she would give way to the younger girls this once. She did so reluctantly but competently, though it was clear she held the taste of the company in very poor opinion. The younger Bennets and Lucas', satisfied at having got their way, joined some of the officers in dancing at one end of the room.

Mr Darcy, standing near them, felt some indignation that every evening in this benighted neighbourhood seemed to devolve into some sort of romp. He longed for London and the luminaries there. The intelligent conversation, the learned saloons, the lectures and plays – he would have given much to be among them now, and so distracted was he by these thoughts he did not notice Sir William sidling up to him until it was too late.

“What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr Darcy! There is nothing like dancing, after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished societies.”

“Certainly, Sir,” Darcy bit out. “And it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world: Every savage can dance.”

But Darcy had overestimated his audience. Failing entirely to perceive the set down in these words, Sir William only smiled. “Your friend performs delightfully,” he said and Darcy, following his glance, was exasperated to observe Bingley joining the dancers with Miss Bennet. “And I doubt not that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr Darcy.”

Feeling as though he had stepped into some Hell where all the demons were imbeciles, Darcy could only say: “You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, Sir.”

“Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight. Do you often dance at St James'?”

“Never, Sir.”

“Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?”

“It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it.”

“You have a house in town, I conclude?”

Mr Darcy, out of patience with this conversation, merely bowed.

“I had once some thoughts of fixing in town myself, for I am fond of superior society. But I did not feel quite certain that the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas.”

He paused in hope of an answer but didn't get one, Darcy too much engrossed by his indignation that this jumped up popinjay should be trying to make them out as equals, knighthoods not withstanding. Too much distracted was he that he once more failed to notice his danger until it was too late.

“My dear Miss Eliza,” Sir William exclaimed suddenly and it was a moment before Darcy perceived that his dear Miss Eliza was his own Miss Elizabeth.  _Not yours, fool._

“But why are you not dancing?” Sir William was demanding with a somewhat desperate jollity. “Mr Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you!” And taking her hand he began to give it to Mr Darcy when Miss Elizabeth instantly drew it back.

“Indeed, Sir, I have not the least intention of dancing,” she said with some discomposure. “I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.”

Much to his chagrin, Darcy had instantly begun to reach for that offered hand and so found himself feeling faintly foolish to have it drawn so hastily back. But he remembered his words at their very first meeting, his set down and her overhearing of it, and he realised that she must have drawn back in fear of yet another reprisal from him. Feeling that she had been punished enough for her impropriety, he bowed to her.

“If you will allow, Miss Bennet, I should be honoured.”

She did not seem to wholly believe him, however, shaking her head once again in refusal.

Sir William protested: “You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you. And though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half hour.”

“Mr Darcy is all politeness,” said Elizabeth, smiling.

“He is, indeed! But considering the inducement, my dear Miss Eliza, we cannot wonder at his complaisance, for who would object to such a partner?”

Elizabeth looked archly and turned away and Darcy was sure then that she was remembering his first harsh words of her. He was not displeased. It showed a spirit that he found he admired and a certain acknowledgement that he had the power to injure her. Sir William might lack the subtly to see it, but he read her determination to be wooed and perhaps to punish him a little and he found he did not mind so much.

He was hardly aware that both Miss Elizabeth and Sir William had left him until a familiar voice sounded from his elbow and he looked down to see Miss Bingley at his side with an expression of fashionable boredom on her elegant features. “I can guess the subject of your reverie,” she said.

“I should imagine not.”

“You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner,” she said. “In such society! And indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise, the nothingness and yet the self-importance of all these people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them.”

“Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you.” And feeling that now perhaps he might begin to atone for his earlier severity of opinion, said, “My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”

Miss Bingley, for a very instant frozen, fixed her eyes on his face. “And which is the lady who has the credit of inspiring such reflections?”

Mr Darcy, feeling suddenly very brave, replied, “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet!” repeated Miss Bingley and he could hear the relief in her voice, and relief making her buoyant she said, “I am all astonishment! How long has she been a favourite? And pray, when am I to wish you joy?”

“That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask,” he said. “A lady's imagination is very rapid: it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy.”

“Nay, if you are so serious about it I shall consider the matter absolutely settled. You will have a charming mother-in-law indeed, and of course she will be always at Pemberley with you.”

She continued on in this strain and he allowed it with indifference, understanding both of them very well. She understood from his composure that her own case was not yet hopeless, and he was carefully acknowledging to her as well as to himself that a pair of fine eyes, no matter how pretty the face in which they happened to be, was not a matter for serious consideration.


	11. Onze

The advantages that a newly encamped militia brought to a neighbourhood lacking in male company was indisputable. However, while it was largely hoped that the officers would be made up of the younger sons of the aristocracy and Britain's respected landed gentry, previous experience had proved to Darcy that it was just as likely to include the sons of the merchant classes and the ever encroaching middle classes. And while it was expected that the purchase of a commission might protect its ranks from such gross intrusion, the sad fact was that such things could no longer be guaranteed and more and more questionable characters were introduced to polite society through their ranks, their previous sins wiped clean by the donning of a red coat. As such, it was not with unalloyed delight that Darcy was informed that the gentlemen of Netherfield Park had been invited to an evening of cards with the officers of the regiment and that Bingley had accepted for them all.

Darcy tried to be agreeable but he could not help the sigh that slipped out and, a moment later: “Must I?”

“Of course you must,” Charles said cheerfully. “Don't look so grim. Perhaps Colonel Forster can tell you the latest news from Europe and you can spend the evening agreeably engaged in reports of slaughtered horses and mislaid provisions.”

“I very much doubt that. It is unlikely that the militia should have any news that has not already been vetted for consumption by the public.”

“Well then you'll simply have to enjoy yourself like the rest of us. I know, it is a terrible imposition, but you cannot expect me to make your excuses in this. What else could I possibly tell them you were engaged upon?”

“Business. Unlike them I have an estate to run and investments to protect.”

“There are times when you are insufferably high in the instep, Darcy.”

“Do not be insulting, Charles. It does not become either of us.”

“It certainly does not become _you_. Now stop protesting and get dressed. We're to be there by five.”

Darcy was heard to mutter something about country hours but made no further protest and disappeared to his rooms to change.

In the event, the evening passed far more pleasantly than Darcy expected. The officers were civilised, the food was good, the drink was plentiful, and the stakes were deep. Colonel Forster was amiable and well-mannered, an English-educated second son of an Irish Baronet. He knew enough of the current goings on in Europe to provide Darcy with a good half hour of conversation before his duties as host forced him to speak on more general topics. Even this did not disturb Darcy's enjoyment of the evening as among the officers there was Captain Benjamin Carter, who upon further conversation turned out to be the grand-nephew of a famous poet whose translation of Epictetus he was familiar with. There was also Major Hugh Pratt, one of the Earl of Camden's many nephews and who, as it happened, was a great friend of his cousin Richard and who immediately demanded of Darcy the latest news of that gentleman; Nicholas Denny, third son of an Irish Baronet; and William Chamberlayne, son of a prominent MP who had been a bosom bow of Darcy's father and whose own father was in line to inherit a large estate in Hampshire. While Darcy was not particular friends with Chamberlayne, he knew of him and recognised in him the army mad lad who had been one of the choicest spirits during last year's Season. He had disappeared from the scandal sheets this year and Darcy had wondered if he had gotten his way and finally been shipped off to the Continent in spite of parental disapproval, so it was unexpected but not surprising to find him here now.

Charles Bingley, who only vaguely remembered Chamberlayne from town, spent much of the evening passing jokes across the card table with him and by the end of the night the two seemed to have formed an alliance in which they proceeded the trounce the others and by the time one o'clock arrived they had managed to split the winnings evenly between them. The gentlemen parted on the very best of terms and Darcy, Bingley, and Hurst finally left sometime after two with promises of a shooting party as soon as might be arranged.

All three gentlemen were in a convivial mood during the carriage ride home, trading stories and exclamations of delight at the company they had found themselves in and the quality of the wine they had been liberally plied with. Even Hurst was almost animated, laughing along with the others at every retelling. Upon arriving at Netherfield they retired to the library where Nicholls, the butler, informed them in tones of doom that Miss Bennet, who had been invited to bear the ladies company, had fallen ill during supper and was currently abed in the Yellow Room and he thought Mr Bingley ought to know.

Charles, who had been smiling affably, turned suddenly sober and the high flush on his cheeks paled at this news. He rose, mostly steadily, and demanded to know where the nearest physician was, how soon he could arrive, and why it hadn't been done already. He began to pace and would have run up the stairs to Miss Bennet's room on the instant had Darcy not grasped his arm and forcibly thrust him into the nearest chair. He then demanded Nicholls to tell them everything he knew and the butler did so, informing the gentlemen that upon their own departure Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst had sent a note round to Longbourn requesting Miss Bennet's company for dinner, in response to which Miss Bennet had arrived shortly thereafter on horseback.

Bingley, remembering the heavy rain that had fallen almost the entire evening, made a sound of distress but Darcy's look hushed him. It turned out that Miss Bennet, for all her robust health, could not withstand three miles in a steady downpour in the middle of November with no ill effect, and over the second course she had suddenly turned faint and had needed to be carried up to a bedroom to recover where she even now remained, feverish but resting according to the latest report from the maid set to attend her.

It took two glasses of brandy to settle Bingley enough to convince him to go to bed, that nothing could be accomplished at this hour and given that the lady herself was asleep, to wake her now only to be prodded about by a doctor waken from his bed in the middle of the night would do no one any good. He was not fully convinced but Darcy finally managed to lead him upstairs and hand him into the care of his valet. Then bidding Hurst goodnight, Darcy closed the door of his own room and finding his own man awake he asked that discerning soul his opinion of that evening's theatrics.

Johnson, who had started as a footman at Pemberley some twenty years previously, knew his master well and merely nodded his understanding. “That was my thought as well, sir, but the lady seemed genuinely affected. While I cannot hold with gossip, the servants from the village here know the Misses Bennet and they all seem particularly distressed at this development. There does not seem to be much fondness among the maids for Miss Mary and Miss Lydia, but for the two eldest girls in particular there is nothing but affection and concern.”

“That does not fill me with confidence, Johnson.”

“No, sir.”

“If they are fond of the ladies they are more likely to prevaricate in order to advance their interests.”

“If you will forgive me, sir, I do not think that is the case.”

Darcy merely grunted and upon his coat and boots being removed he sent Johnson to his bed.

*****

The household slept late, the gentlemen all feeling slightly the worse for their indulgences the night before, and the ladies declared to be prostrate from distress at their friend's illness.

Bingley, in spite of his pounding head, was alone in rising at his usual time and he proceeded to pace the upstairs hall for some minutes until the door to the Yellow Room opened to reveal an indignant maid, come to find out who was making such noise right outside her patient's door. Charles pounced on her, demanding to know how Miss Bennet faired, and upon being told in tearful tones that she had never known Miss Jane to have taken so ill before, he resolved at once to send for the physician. Upon being told that there was no physician in the area, merely Mr Jones the apothecary in Meryton, Charles railed for several minutes in an outraged whisper at the general injustices of life until Caroline appeared in the doorway across the hall demanding to know what was happening and why it was deemed important enough to disturb her sleep. Upon being told that Miss Bennet was doing worse, a flash of impatience passed over her features, quickly suppressed, and with great magnanimity of manner, she crossed the hall to see for herself.

It was unfortunately revealed that Miss Bennet was indeed doing worse. She was conscious but exhausted and her cheeks were flushed with burning colour. She shivered violently, her teeth chattering as she tried to inform her dear friend that she was indeed well and if they would only do the kindness of lending her their carriage she would unburden them of her presence for she did not think she was able to ride Winnie this morning.

Even Caroline, by no means a nurturing woman, was alarmed at this sight of her friend and denied emphatically the possibility of sending her away in this state. She did however allow Jane to pen a short note home in order to inform her sister that she was safe and promised to have it sent to Longbourn immediately.

Charles, in an agony of inaction, resolved to take the note himself, or if they would not let him then to ride for Mr Jones. He would bring him back on the back of his horse if he must! But the appearance of Mr Darcy in his dressing gown put paid to these histrionics. With a scathing look of disbelief he ordered Bingley to take a damper and to cease embarrassing himself in front of the servants. He then turned to a footman and several maids who, with all the commotion were hovering uncertainly in the corridor, and dispatched them about their tasks: the maids to their work and the footman to the apothecary. Then taking Bingley by the arm he dragged him back to his rooms where he thrust him into a chair and for the next hour allowed his friend uninterrupted relief of his feelings.

This did much to restore Bingley's equanimity, and at long last he began to wind down his litany of Miss Bennet's virtues and the meticulous detailing of the precise depths of his despair in the event that anything should happen to her. Darcy, painfully aware of his friend's inability to cope under any perceived stress, listened without interruption until finally, his cravat arranged to his satisfaction, he turned to his friend and said, “You had much better eat something.”

Charles, exhausted by his outpouring, allowed himself to be led to the breakfast room where Hurst was already seated, having just filled his plate. The two gentlemen joined him and upon their sitting down they were immediately made to rise again as Caroline and Louisa made their appearance. They both seemed distressed, declared that they could not eat a thing, and then proceeded to make a very good meal. Bingley, meanwhile, sat before his full plate and pushed his kippers and ham around absently while listening with eager hope to his sisters' reports of Miss Bennet's health.

It was as this was being delivered that Nicholls entered the room and bowing to the table informed Miss Bingley that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was arrived to see her sister. He was immediately enjoined by Charles to see her in and upon her appearance he was out of his seat and bowing over her hand before Darcy, feeling as though his limbs were suddenly too large for him, could even stand.

“Miss Elizabeth, how good of you to come. I know Miss Bennet must be wishing to see you.”

“Mr Bingley, forgive me, I had not meant to disturb you.” Her glance flickered around the room, taking in its occupants and including them in her apology. It seemed to Darcy as though it had settled on him for an instant longer than the others.

“There is nothing to forgive. And you must stay for as long as you wish. I will tell them to have your horse stabled and that way you may be comfortable.” He was about to call out for Nicholls but Elizabeth, in some confusion, stopped him.

“Oh, no, I beg you do not. I walked you see. It is scarcely three miles.”

“Three miles!” Miss Bingley exclaimed. “How very energetic of you, Miss Bennet, and so very early.”

“Your poor maid must be exhausted,” Mrs Hurst added.

“That would be cruel indeed, but happily I did not bring one with me. Is Mr Jones above?”

“You are before even him, Miss Bennet,” Miss Bingley said.

“Can you tell me, how is my sister?”

It was Bingley who answered this. “She slept ill and is very feverish, the maid says. We are most concerned.”

“A fever! Jane did not tell me that in her note.”

“Undoubtedly she did not wish to alarm you. You must be wishing us all at Jericho, Miss Elizabeth. Come, I will bring you to her straight away”

“Indeed, no!” Miss Elizabeth protested. “For I see you are at your breakfast. A footman shall do me very well.”

“Nonsense, I have finished and would like to know myself how she does.”

“Charles, don't be gooseish,” Miss Bingley said, rising to her feet. “I will take Miss Elizabeth to see her sister. You mustn't neglect Mr Darcy and on such a fine day as this. My tea is cold by now so it will make no difference if I go.”

And without waiting for further argument she led the way from the room, leaving Elizabeth little choice but to follow. A moment later Miss Elizabeth was gone, the door closed behind her, and Darcy, standing before his chair in a near daze, felt he might eventually be able to move again.


	12. Douze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading and thank you very much for all the wonderful comments and kudos. They are very much appreciated.
> 
> I'm changing updates to twice a week though with no set days because work is (very) slowly starting up again so my schedule is slightly less wide open than it has been. Also, a little bit of pressure is good for the soul and for my productivity. Therefore, here is chapter 12 which will count as my second update for this week.
> 
> Happy reading. Stay safe, stay sane <3

Foreseeing a day in which Charles would pace restlessly through the house or lurk in strategic corridors, Darcy took Caroline's advice and as soon as word came that the apothecary had come and had promised some draughts for Miss Bennet's fever, he forcibly took charge of the day and dragged Charles to the stables for a drive.

They took Charles' phaeton with Darcy driving the unfamiliar pair, broad-chested chestnuts that could go for hours. They were the breakdowns of a mutual acquaintance that Charles had purchased from under Darcy's nose last May and as such were a point of constant contention between them. He felt a smug pleasure at driving them now, a feat he had been striving towards for months and which Charles had laughingly denied him, telling him that if he had wanted to drive them so badly he should have purchased them himself. His smugness, however, was considerably tempered by the fact that Charles did not seem to notice at all. As Darcy had largely done it as a way to get a rise from his friend, he was disappointed, but did not waste the opportunity. They were beautiful steppers and responded to the lightest touch and out of pure delight at handling them Darcy feathered a few corners and sped past an oncoming curricle with mere inches to spare.

This entertainment soon palled next to Bingley's sullen silence, however, and after several miles Darcy was finally constrained to attempt a few conversational gambits, but as it was not something that came naturally to him he eventually gave it up, feeling somewhat resentful that Charles was not keeping up his side of their unspoken bargain. As such, they passed for some time in mutual silence, both of them thinking very differently of the inhabitants of the house they had just left.

Bingley's mind was predictably on Miss Jane Bennet. He was remembering the dances they had danced, the conversations they had had. He thought of Miss Bennet's firm goodness, her unwavering kindness, the depth of her principle but also the surprising warmth of her unexpected humour. She did not possess her younger sister's lighthearted cleverness, but she had more than once made some quiet jest that had been all the more valuable for being so unexpected. He was used to amusing women, Caroline and Louisa priding themselves on their caustic, well-bred wittiness that was as much in fashion among the _haut monde_ as high waistlines and skin tight pantaloons. But that type of humour never pleased Charles very much. He was himself a kind and warmhearted man and he found it difficult sometimes to laugh at the paper thin insults disguised as humour and good manners. He had been on the receiving end of enough barbed comments to understand the effect they could have, and so the unsophisticated, unfashionable, uncompromising goodness of Jane Bennet was a relief. It was more than a relief. He very much suspected he would soon be spoiled for any other women but somehow he could not find it in himself to mind.

Less predictably, Darcy's mind was also on a Bennet daughter, but it was Jane's younger sister that held his thoughts. More specifically, the sight she had made upon entering the breakfast room that morning, with mud on her hem, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed, hair escaping the confines of her hastily tied bonnet making Darcy feel certain she had removed it at some point during her walk. He had felt alarm at learning she had come all that way alone. He had expected to feel outrage as well but he hadn't. It was not unusual in the country for ladies to walk unchaperoned, not in their immediate neighbourhoods, but three miles seemed an extraordinary distance indeed. He knew the family had a carriage and horses to pull it, deep chested animals built more for strength than for speed, so he did not understand why it had been necessary. He wondered at the carelessness of her parents, the carelessness of herself that she did not stop to think of the impression she might give to mere acquaintances. A close friend might forgive the rashness of her actions, but to expose herself before one such as himself, such as the Bingleys and Hursts, was extraordinary to him and he could not understand it. Did she think to impress him with her activity? Or challenge his expectations of good behaviour as a way to punish him? Was she aware of the power of her looks, regardless of muddy petticoats? Or was it simpler than that, her mother sending her forth in the hopes of securing a second invitation to stay? Or, simpler still, had she truly been concerned for her sister and, having found the horses engaged on farm work, resolved to reach her in the best way she knew how? It was a puzzle and Darcy was determined that he should find the solution to it before he left Hertfordshire.

They stopped for nuncheon at a public house in the nearby village of Upper Kingsford. The was no private parlour so they ate in the tap room with the labourers and field workers and after downing half a tankard Bingley finally seemed to come out of his brown study, blinking up at Darcy and offering a sheepish smile.

“I'm not much company today, I fear.”

“No, but I'm used to it.”

Charles stuck out his tongue like a schoolboy and laughed. “I deserved that.”

“Yes.”

“But at least you were finally able to drive the chestnuts.”

“If you hadn't gotten Repton drunk the night before you knew I was going to offer for them I would have been able to drive them any time I pleased.”

“I invited you to join us that evening, it's not my fault you're such a slowtop.”

“I'll show you slowtop any time you like, you young cawker.”

“I wouldn't dare! You're far too tall and far too handy with your fives.”

“Pudding heart.”

“Absolutely! I have let you drive my cattle but I shan't allow you to draw my cork just because you're feeling resty!”

Good humour thus restored, they finished their light repast and made their way back to Netherfield by the main roads, Darcy giving the horses their heads on the final stretch so the gentlemen arrived windblown and pink-cheeked from the November air.

It was after three when they arrived back at the house and Nicholls informed them at the door that there was no change in Miss Bennet's health and that Miss Elizabeth was to remain at the house while her sister was too ill to be moved; a footman had just then been dispatched to Longbourn for her clothes.

Bingley, good humour once more subdued, was dismayed to learn there had been no improvement and said he would go up at once to see what he could do, but was soon persuaded that there was little a gentleman could do in the face of a lady's illness and that the only thing he would accomplish would be to get in the way of the maids trying to do their work. He reluctantly allowed it to be true and finally retreated to the gardens where he spent the hours before dinner pacing the shrubbery, and when it became too dark for that, joining Darcy in the library where he convinced him to exchange his book for a game of piquet.

At half past five they went to change for dinner and a little after six thirty found the whole party, excepting Jane, reunited for drinks in the downstairs parlour. Miss Elizabeth was the last to enter, her face drawn and tired, and as soon as she appeared was pounced upon by Mr Bingley who wished to know how her sister did.

Caroline and Louisa, though they had sat most of the day with Jane alongside Elizabeth, declared themselves shocked and utterly cast down that she had not improved in the short time since they had left her.

“Are not you most distressed, Mr Darcy?” Caroline demanded. “Poor Miss Bennet! How tiresome to have a chill! It always makes one so miserable.”

“Indeed,” he said. “Most distressing.”

“It is beastly,” Charles declared. “And such a one as this. Fevers are not to be trifled with. I only regret that she cannot be at home where she must feel most comfortable. How distressing for your poor sister, Miss Elizabeth, to be away from her family at such a time.”

There was a moment in which Elizabeth's eyebrow quirked and the corner of her lip rose as though she had suddenly thought of something humorous. Darcy, observing it, wanted to know what it meant but it was gone a moment later, her expression once more serious. “She could not ask for more comfort, kindness, or quiet than she is finding here,” Elizabeth assured Bingley warmly. “I have thanked your sisters until they are sick of hearing it, but let me thank you too, Mr Bingley: you have been so kind to my poor Jane and myself. I could not have liked leaving her.”

“No, of course you could not leave her. I would not have allowed you to!”

In an instant the mischievous humour was back in her face. “Would you have prevented it then, Mr Bingley?”

He gave her a grin. “Locked the door and hidden your bonnet and pelisse!”

She laughed, a clear, light sound that erased some of the weariness from her face. Darcy, finding himself almost uncontrollably drawn to her, could only be thankful that dinner was then announced.

She sat almost as far from him as she could be, though given that they were sitting _en famille_ that was not very far at all. She sat on Bingley's right side, who was at the foot of the table, with Hurst on her right. Darcy, meanwhile, was sandwiched by Caroline at the head of the table and Louisa, and spent the meal being entertained by these ladies. It was a lively conversation, recounting an incident they had all witnessed in London with people Miss Elizabeth could not have known, and though it was amusingly told Darcy was aware of the rudeness of both the topic and the method of delivery. Apart from Charles, Miss Elizabeth was ignored. Hurst, surprisingly, made some attempt at conversation, but as soon as it was established that she preferred a plain dish to a ragout he professed his astonishment and henceforth had nothing more to say to her.

Darcy, only half his attention on the ladies, was overly aware of Elizabeth and Bingley speaking quietly together at the other end of the table, and had an overwhelming urge to demand to know what they spoke of. He almost asked, but Caroline and Louisa were looking at him and he was aware from their silence that he had missed something.

“I apologise, ladies. I was being inattentive.”

Caroline's eyes narrowed and her eyes flickered once to where Elizabeth sat. “How could we do aught but forgive you?” she said. “I hear you took Charles' horses out today for the first time. What magnificent beasts, are they not, Darcy? I declare, when I heard how Charles had tricked you out of them I was most upset and scolded him dreadfully.”

“You need not have been concerned. Had I the chance I would have done the same to him. Shall you now scold me, Miss Bingley?”

“You are funning, Mr Darcy! As if I should scold you for anything you do, for you always know best what is to be done. Had you purchased the horses before Charles I have no doubt it would have been entirely the most proper thing to do.”

“In that case, it must have been the most proper thing to be done regardless of who had done it and therefore Charles was entirely correct in his actions. Unfortunately, being the loser in the outcome I cannot agree with you, but I will not let it get in the way of our dinner.” And saying thus, he turned his attention entirely to his plate and could not be drawn into further debate on the topic.

As soon as dinner had finished, Miss Bennet once more excused herself to her sister's side, and the moment the door closed behind her Miss Bingley began abusing her to the room.

“I confess I cannot approve of Miss Elizabeth,” she said to no one in particular. “Her manners are very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence. From what little I have seen of her, and indeed that is quite enough, I can with certainty say she has no conversation, no style, no taste, and no beauty.”

“I am entirely in agreement,” Louisa said. “She has nothing, in short, to recommend herself but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild!”

“She did indeed, Louisa. I could barely keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country because her sister has a cold? Her hair so untidy, so blowsy!”

“Yes, and her petticoat! I hope you saw her petticoat: six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain, and the gown which had been let down to hide it not doing its office.”

Bingley, who had been quiet until now, interrupted at this stage. “Your picture may be very exact, Louisa, but this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice.”

Miss Bingley, affording this remark all the attention it deserved, turned to Mr Darcy. “ _You_ observed it, Mr Darcy, I am sure. And I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see  _your sister_ make sure an exhibition.”

“Certainly not,” said Darcy.

“To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum.”

“It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,” said Bingley, who was once more ignored.

“I am afraid, Mr Darcy,” observed Miss Bingley in a half-whisper, “That this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.”

“Not at all,” he replied. “They were brightened by the exercise.”

A short pause followed this speech in which Miss Bingley looked nonplussed until Mrs Hurst, quick to fill the gap, began again.

“I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet,” she said. “She is really a very sweet girl and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”

“I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton,” Darcy said.

“Yes, and they have another who lives somewhere near Cheapside.”

“That is capital,” said Caroline and she and Louisa laughed heartily.

Bingley, who was really getting angry now, cried out, “If they had uncles enough to fill  _all_ Cheapside it would not make them one jot less agreeable!”

“But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world,” Darcy said, and to this speech Bingley made no answer, merely looking at his friend as though he had just confessed to stealing his chestnuts out from under him. But his sisters gave it their hearty assent and indulged their mirth for some time at the expense of their dear friend's vulgar relations before, in a renewal of tenderness, they repaired once more to her room on their removal from the dining parlour.


	13. Treize

The topic was not revisited after the withdrawal of the ladies. Bingley, sunk back into the gloom of that morning, was almost silent, hardly acknowledging Darcy at all with either look or word. Darcy thought Charles might be angry at him but dismissed this thought, knowing he had done nothing to incite his friend's wrath. However, his silence meant that it was left to Hurst and Darcy to entertain themselves and they did so by halfheartedly debating whether the weather would be good enough for shooting tomorrow. Darcy attempted to follow this up with a discussion on the current state of the Poor Laws, and when this did not rouse a response, the actions of the Luddites in the north. But as this was equally unsuccessful the gentlemen soon fell into silence which was only broken by Charles eventually rising from the table and declaring it about time for the coffee tray to come out.

They retreated to the drawing room where the ladies were soon summoned from Miss Bennet's sick bed. Bingley seemed disappointed to find Miss Elizabeth not among them and Darcy, to his own disgust, was scarcely less so. He refused to ask whether or not she would be joining them but was grateful when Charles did so and tried to pretend that he was not listening closely to the response.

“Oh no! Miss Elizabeth is determined to play sick nurse, you know,” Louisa said.

“Such affectation,” Caroline added. “ _We_ are not so poor that we cannot afford a maid to attend her sister. I wonder who is meant to be impressed by her noble self-sacrifice.” Her eye went to Mr Darcy but as he was busy pretending not to listen he did not see it.

Bingley, flushed but refusing to be once more drawn in a lost cause, stopped further discussion by asking if anyone would play cards with him and the whole party readily agreed.

They were at loo when Miss Elizabeth Bennet eventually joined them. She looked somewhat lighter than at supper and at Mr Bingley's inquiry she admitted some relief at leaving Jane asleep.

“That is excellent, Miss Elizabeth. I am glad for your sake as well as Miss Bennet's as it gives us the opportunity for your own company at least.”

She smiled in gratitude and looked with swift curiosity at their table. Mr Hurst invited her to join the game but after a moment's hesitation she demurred, making her sister the excuse and saying she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay below with a book. Mr Hurst, looking at her with astonishment, said “Do you prefer reading to cards? That is rather singular!”

Miss Bingley replied for her: “Miss Eliza Bennet despises cards. She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else!”

Darcy, who had his own ideas about her reasons for refusing to play, found his attention caught at this estimation of her character. He knew Miss Bingley meant it as criticism, but he felt the reluctant tug of admiration and focussed his gaze upon Miss Elizabeth in time to see the look of surprise on her face.

“I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,” she protested. “I am _not_ a great reader and I have pleasure in many things.”

Darcy heard Caroline's indrawn breath at his side as she made to retort but Charles was faster.

“In nursing your sister,” he said, “I am sure you have pleasure, and I hope it will soon by increased by seeing her quite well.”

Elizabeth thanked him from her heart and then walked towards a table where a few books were lying. Charles, seeing her direction, instantly offered to fetch her others.

“All my library affords, if it pleases you! And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and for my own credit, but I am an idle fellow and though I have not many, I have more than I ever look into.”

“No, I assure you, these shall suit me perfectly,” she said, and after a moment reading the various titles, picked up _Hours of Idleness,_ a collection of poems Darcy only slightly admired and written by a peer of whom he heartily disapproved. He had purchased the book in Meryton several days ago and although he was of the opinion that all books possessed worth, he was still uncertain whether or not this could be said to justify its purchase.

“I am astonished,” Miss Bingley was saying, “That my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr Darcy!”

“It ought to be good,” Darcy replied. “It has been the work of many generations.”

“And then you have added so much to it yourself. You are always buying books!”

“I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these,” he said, trying to ignore Charles long suffering sigh beside him.

“Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build _your_ house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley.”

Charles, repressing his impatience at this oft-repeated theme for the sake of the relative stranger in the room, said only, “I wish it may.”

Caroline, aware of the advantage an audience could give, did not forbear pressing her point. “But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighbourhood and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire.”

“With all my heart,” Charles declared with only a hint of impatience. “I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it!”

“I am talking of possibilities, Charles.”

“Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation.”

Darcy, half his attention caught solely by Elizabeth's actions, was aware that the pages in her hand, scarcely begun to turn, were soon laid wholly aside. In moments the lady herself drew a chair near the card table between Charles and Louisa, seemingly equally intent on the conversation as she was on the play. She was now a scarce four feet away from him and Darcy thought he smelled lavender water but couldn't be certain.

In the meantime, the thinly veiled vexation in Charles' voice and the muteness of the rest of the party finally silenced Miss Bingley on the subject of Pemberley and it was several rounds of play before she finally spoke again, this time on a wholly different subject and addressing Darcy himself.

“Is Miss Darcy grown much since the spring?” she asked. “Will she be as tall as I am?”

Darcy could only wonder at this new subject, but six years among the _beau monde_ stood him now in good stead and he recognised Caroline's game for what it was. A week ago he would have said nothing. But it had been a long week and a longer day yet. Her presence, the awareness of Miss Elizabeth Bennet being here within reach and under the same roof seemed to turn him mad.

And so he responded, knowing he was pandering exactly to those games he hated so much. Caroline Bingley was too sure of herself, even after two years without the slightest sign of approval or hope from him. He did not dislike her but he was tired of fending her off, wishing she would find someone richer and better connected to attach herself to. So the mischief inside him, rarely allowed out to play, got the better of him.

“I think she will,” he said, not daring to look anywhere but at his cards. “She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height, or rather taller.”

If he had looked up he would have been gratified to see the briefest flicker of resentment on Caroline's face, the sudden flush of colour too faint to be sure. But he did not, staring unseeingly at his cards and wondering at his own daring. But two years had made Darcy familiar with her determination, if nothing else. With hardly a breath of hesitation she went on: “How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners, and so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”

 _An attack on Elizabeth's lack of accomplishment?_ Darcy wondered. _Or simply a way to show the intimacy of their families? Or..._ and the thought gave him pause. _A warning for Jane Bennet not to poach on forbidden preserves?_ He was aware of Caroline's ambitions for Charles and Georgiana and while he would not have been averse to the match had either party shown the least interest, he had never detected the faintest sign from either of them. Charles treated Georgiana with the casual disinterest of an older brother and Georgiana, while showing pleasure at Charles' company, seemed to value him more for the ease of his society and the presents he brought her when he visited. There were other reasons for Darcy to believe she held no particular _tendre_ for Charles, but he had no wish to think of George Wickham.

“It is amazing to me,” said Charles, “How young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”

“All young ladies accomplished!” Caroline exclaimed. “My dear Charles, what do you mean?”

“Yes, all of them, I think,” her brother said. “They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know any one who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time without being informed that she was very accomplished.”

“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments has too much truth,” said Darcy with heavy disapproval. “The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen in the whole range of my acquaintance that are really accomplished.”

“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.

“Then,” observed Elizabeth, “You must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.” And something inside him thrilled when he realised she was looking directly at him.

“Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it,” said Darcy, the mild interest in her eye making him feel uncommonly valiant. He had a brief vision of them seated together before a lit hearth, her eyes turned upwards to him in respectful interest as he taught her all the things she had missed the opportunity to learn. He imagined her gratitude, her attentiveness, the warmth of the room, and the fact that in his vision they were alone, and he blinked and hastily forced the vision away.

“Oh, certainly!” Miss Bingley was saying. “No one can really be esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages to deserve the word. And besides all this she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved.”

“All this she must possess,” said Darcy, speaking to the room but his words wholly for Elizabeth. “And to all this she must yet add something more substantial in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

“I am no longer surprised at your knowing _only_ six accomplished women,” cried Elizabeth. “I rather wonder now at your knowing _any._ ”

His hackles rose. He looked up from his cards to see her expression of mild interest had been just another guise for her mockery and the vision of those worshipful eyes crumbled into ash. Who was she, in her insignificant town filled with insignificant people, to doubt the superiority of those who she could not possibly know. “Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all this?” Darcy asked and knew he sounded intolerably haughty but did not care. For certainly she deserved it.

“ _I_ never saw such a woman,” Elizabeth said. “ _I_ never saw such capacity and taste and application and elegance as you describe united.”

“For shame, Miss Eliza!” Louisa cried out. “How could you be so unjust?”

“We know of many _very_ accomplished ladies in our circle,” Caroline said sounding nearly as haughty as Darcy had. “Perhaps the fault is with you that you do not get out among society enough.”

“Indeed, perhaps it is your acquaintance at fault and not ladies in general. Perhaps if you went to London more.”

“Certainly. Perhaps your relations there might take you out among society and you may see for yourself. You do have relations in town, I believe?”

This was a set down undoubtedly. Every person sitting at that table knew the Bennets' relations had no more chance of entering society than the kitchen cat. And yet Miss Elizabeth gave no answer except a barely suppressed smile and the slight raising of an eyebrow that seemed to say _You have proved my point for me._ And the fact that she was entirely correct did nothing to stem the anger in Darcy's breast.

The impassioned speech of the ladies finally roused Hurst from his focus on his cards and he finally looked up to call the party to order and with the last mutters of discontent thus silenced, they all turned back to the table and the subject was dropped.

To owe Hurst any gratitude was a new sensation for Darcy, but he could not deny that he felt it. He was angry, yes, but he knew that even that was too much attention to pay Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She laughed at them and goaded them into folly with her unsubstantiated remarks and then sat there and smirked while they all made fools of themselves. Only Bingley and Hurst sat unscathed by her tricks and it did not please Darcy to be counted among the ridiculous. He pointedly and with determined coldness turned his back to her and resolved that she should not draw him again, and as all conversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon left the room. As she did so Darcy was conscious of a sense of victory but also of disappointment which he determinedly crushed.

As soon as the door was closed on her, Caroline burst forth with angry speech. “Eliza Bennet is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own, and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But in my opinion it is a paltry device. A very mean art.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Darcy to whom this remark was chiefly addressed, and because he was angry not only at Elizabeth but also Caroline and Louisa for being just as foolish as he had been himself, continued on to say, “There is meanness is _all_ the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.”

Miss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply as to continue the subject.

Only a few minutes passed before the door once more opened and Elizabeth rejoined them, but it was only to say that her sister was worse and that she could not leave her again that night. Charles, who had been entirely silent after that first ill-fated attempt at a compliment to ladies, was straightaway on his feet and joining her across the room. He urged immediately for Mr Jones being sent for while his sisters were convinced that no country advice would be of any service and recommended an express to town for one of the most eminent physicians. Elizabeth would not hear of this but was not unwilling to comply with their brother's proposal and it was settled that Mr Jones should be sent for early in the morning if Miss Bennet was not decidedly better.

Bingley was wretched for the rest of the evening, hardly considering his supper and only vaguely attending his sisters' skilful recital of duets afterwards. He found some relief in instructing his housekeeper that every possible attention should be paid to the sick lady and her sister, but as it was hardly necessary it was only when Darcy plied him with several glasses of brandy once the ladies had gone to bed that Charles finally allowed himself to be ushered to his own chambers and to bed.


	14. Quatorze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone missed it, updates are twice a week now and chapter 13 was posted earlier this week. Hope you enjoy chapter 14!

Bingley, having passed an indifferent night, was awake early again the next morning and his first order upon rising was that his valet, Pool, discover the state of Miss Bennet's health and whether Miss Elizabeth required a message being sent to the apothocary.

John Pool, an unprepossessing gentleman some two or three years older than Bingley himself, had been hastily promoted to valet when Charles, arriving home from Rugby upon the event of his parents' death, had suddenly found himself requiring a valet and with no very clear idea of how to go about finding one. He had alighted upon Pool by the simple fact that he was the only footman he still recognised and the two had muddled along together for the five years since, each of them learning along the way to come into their dignity and only John Pool much succeeding at it. In spite of Darcy's attempts to thrust a succeeding line of elegant French _é_ _migré_ onto his friend in Pool's stead, Charles never wavered in his loyalty to his gentleman's gentleman, and casually brushed over any fault Darcy managed to find with his appearance by informing his friend that his sense of fashion was entirely too nice and that he ought to consider brightening himself up on occasion. This never failed to silence Darcy, who would invariably drop the subject out of sheer speechless horror, until the next time he found Charles in a waistcoat he disapproved of. The other reason Charles refused all attempts to unseat Pool with one of Darcy's choices was that Darcy's choices tended to be even more unbearably toplofty than Darcy's Fitzwilliam relatives had been the one time Charles had been invited to the family seat, and the unnerving thought of confronting that sort of thing over his morning chocolate left him bilious.

Pool proved his worth that morning by presenting Charles with his tray and the information that he had already sent a maid to inquire after Miss Bennet not twenty minutes since and to answer his master's questions, the lady was a little better and the lady's sister did not think a visit from the apothecary would be necessary.

Charles, vivified by this news, declared that Pool would have a large bonus, then insisted that the apothecary be sent for regardless and immediately demanded to be dressed in his favourite blue coat in celebration of Miss Bennet's improvement.

Wandering down to the breakfast parlour some time later, he found Darcy already there with a look of acute suffering on his face.

“My dear Darcy, never tell me you are ill too!”

“There is nothing the matter with me but that coat of yours.”

“This is my favourite coat.”

“To my dismay.”

“What is it then, man? Has Nicholls burnt the toast?”

“What are you on about, Charles?”

“You look positively liverish and you haven't complained about this coat in months though I've worn it at least a dozen times since.”

“It is nothing.”

“Surely it is something.”

But Darcy merely grunted and returned to the newspaper and it was only when Caroline and Louisa appeared a moment later, the same look upon their own faces, that Charles began to be alarmed.

“Lord's sake, someone tell me! Is it Miss Bennet? Has something happened?”

“Language, Charles!” Louisa admonished, much in the manner of elder sister. “There are ladies present.”

“Ladies who will very soon be treated to much worse language if they do not tell me what is happening in my own house!”

“Really Charles, such theatrics,” Caroline sighed. “It is merely that Miss Eliza has requested that her mother be sent for.”

“Is that all?”

“ _All?_ ”

“Well, it is not very shocking that she should do so, after all. Who better than the lady who must have nursed Miss Bennet through a dozen such illnesses. Yes, none better, I think. It is a wonder that I did not think of sending for her myself.”

“I am very grateful you did not. She is impossibly ill-bred, brother.”

“She is our neighbour and a lady, Caroline.”

“A lady whose father was an attorney.”

“A lady who is married to a gentleman. And do not forget where the fortune came from that pays for your gowns, if you please.”

Caroline, flushing, merely turned her back and went to the sideboard to fill her plate.

Louisa, after a moment of thought to be sure it had been her own husband who had paid for the elegant morning gown she wore and not her brother, felt emboldened to press her point.

“How very vulgar you are this morning, Charles,” she chided. “In any event, Mrs Bennet may be a lady by marriage, but she is a very ill-bred and silly woman nonetheless. I would not be at all surprised if she had ordered Jane to dinner on horseback wholly in order to ensure her presence here until the morning.”

“You cannot possibly be suggesting she intended her daughter to fall ill.”

Taken aback by the scorn on his face, she stuttered a moment before allowing that perhaps not, “but it is possible she did not think she would fall so ill.”

“Even if what you say is true, that only makes Miss Jane Bennet's position more pitiable in my mind.”

“More pitiable perhaps, but not more eligible,” Darcy interjected.

Bingley, refusing to answer this, merely shook his head and drank his coffee.

Five minutes of silent serving and eating passed before Nicholls entered the room to inform Miss Bingley that Mrs Bennet and the two youngest Misses Bennet had arrived and had been shown to the young lady's room, along with Mr Jones the apothecary. Caroline nodded and dismissed him, then turned back to the table to find Charles looking at her expectantly.

“Yes, brother?” she asked coldly, not having yet forgiven him for that forbidden reference to their roots in front of Mr Darcy.

“I hope you will make it known to Mrs Bennet that she is welcome to visit with us as soon as she has assured herself of Miss Bennet's health.”

Only knowing that Charles was liable to go to the woman himself if she did not had Caroline bowing her head and saying, “Naturally. _I_ am not so ill-bred as to forget common propriety.”

She waited until she had finished her tea and toast to avoid being seen in any hurry to comply with this edict, then excused herself to the gentlemen and her sister and made her way upstairs. She reappeared some ten minutes later with Mrs Bennet in tow along with the two youngest daughters and Miss Elizabeth, looking pale and tired.

Mr Bingley met them at the door, bowing courteously over Mrs Bennet's hand and offering each of the girls a greeting in turn. They were all offered seats and place settings, the latter which was refused, and as soon as they were sat down Mr Bingley said to Mrs Bennet that he hoped she did not find her daughter worse than she thought.

This was not to be expected, however, and declaring that she did indeed, proclaimed Miss Bennet far too ill to be moved. “Mr Jones says we must not think of moving her,” she said, neatly clinching the matter. “We must trespass a little longer on your kindness.”

Bingley, to whom the thought had never even occurred, looked aghast. “Removed! It must not be thought of! My sister, I am sure, will not hear of her removal.”

Miss Bingley, after this speech, could only agree, but it was done with such cold civility that only Mrs Bennet herself seemed unaware of the snub intended in the words, responding as she did with such profuse acknowledgements.

“I am sure,” the matron added, “If it was not for such good friends I do not know what would become of her, for she is very ill indeed and suffers a vast deal, though with the greatest patience in the world--which is always the way with her, for she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to  _her._ ” And hardly waiting for an answer to this, though what possible answer she could expect it was not known, she went immediately on. “You have a sweet room here, Mr Bingley, and a charming prospect over that gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease.”

Darcy, hackles already risen at the slight against Miss Elizabeth – he did not think of the other girls as being insulted for he saw it as nothing but the truth in their cases – he was further irritated by this evidence of country gossip, so baldly related without embarrassment. Bingley, however, seemed not to notice it at all, losing not an ounce of good humour from his expression as he engaged her.

“Whatever I do is done in a hurry,” he replied cheerfully. “And therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here.”

“That is exactly what I should have supposed of you,” said Elizabeth.

He turned towards her, grinning. “You begin to comprehend me, do you?”

“Oh, yes! I understand you perfectly.”

“I wish I might take this for a compliment. But to be so easily seen through I am afraid is pitiful.”

“That is as it happens. It does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable that such a one as yours.”

“Lizzy!” cried her mother. “Remember where you are and do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.”

Elizabeth's face suffused with colour and her lips compressed at this public rebuke, but Charles, pretending to be both deaf and blind, continued without pause.

“I did not know before that you were a studier of character,” he said to her. “It must be an amusing study.”

“Yes, but intricate characters are the  _most_ amusing. They have at least that advantage.”

Darcy, who had stood by with growing indignation at this woman, scolding one daughter while allowing her others to litter the countryside with their ill-bred folly, was determined to show his approval of that same daughter in spite. Seeing now his opportunity to do so, he stepped into the conversation, trying to ignore the look of surprise on Charles' face when he did so.

“The country can in general supply but few subjects for such a study. In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined and unvarying society.”

“But people themselves alter so much that there is something new to be observed in them forever,” Miss Elizabeth said and he thought he could detect gratitude in her expression as she turned to him.

It was gone the next instant, however.

“Yes, indeed!” cried her mother, her voice heavy with umbrage. “I assure you there is quite as much of  _that_ going on in the country as in town!”

All attention in the room turned to her in surprise. Darcy, looking at her for a moment, turned silently away.

Fancying herself as having triumphed over him, Mrs Bennet continued. “I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country for my part, except in the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is not it, Mr Bingley?”

Mr Bingley, always quick to try for peace, replied, “When I am in the country I never wish to leave it; and when I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have each their advantages and I can be equally happy in either.”

“Aye, that is because you have the right disposition,” Mrs Bennet said. “But that gentleman,” looking at Mr Darcy, “Seemed to think the country was nothing at all.”

“Indeed, Mama, you are mistaken,” said Elizabeth, blushing even more than she had been before. “You quite mistook Mr Darcy. He only meant that there were not such a variety of people to be met with in the country as in town, which you must acknowledge to be true.”

“Certainly, my dear, nobody said there were. But as to not meeting with as many people in this neighbourhood, I believe there are few neighbourhoods larger. I know we dine with four and twenty families.”

Another silence ensued, laced with scorn, and Darcy could not help but meet the look of disdainful amusement that Caroline cast his way. Bingley, his cheeks red but his countenance determinedly sober, could hardly bear to look at Elizabeth while Darcy, seeking her out, watched the mortification sweep over her features and the desperate need to turn the subject.

“You have not told me, Mama, if Charlotte Lucas has been at Longbourn since I came away.”

“Yes, she called yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man Sir William is, Mr Bingley, is he not? So much the man of fashion! So genteel and easy! He has always something to say to everybody.  _That_ is my idea of good breeding. And those persons who fancy themselves very important and never open their mouths quite mistake the matter.” This said with a haughty glance at Darcy.

“Did Charlotte dine with you?” asked Elizabeth.

“No, she would go home. I fancy she was wanted about the mince pies. For my part, Mr Bingley, I always keep servants that can do their own work. My daughters are brought up differently. But everybody is to judge for themselves and the Lucases are very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that  _I_ think Charlotte so  _very_ plain, but then she is our particular friend.”

Even Bingley's ease of conversation seemed to have dried up under Mrs Bennet's style of speaking, but he managed to admit that he had found Miss Charlotte Lucas a very pleasant young woman before Mrs Bennet was once more off.

“Oh! Dear, yes! But you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so and envied me Jane's beauty. I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane--one does not often see anybody better looking. It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own partiality. When she was only fifteen there was a gentleman at my brother Gardiner's in town so much in love with her that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer before we came away. But however he did not. Perhaps he thought her too young. However, he wrote some verses on her and very pretty they were.”

“And so ended his affection!” said Elizabeth, impatiently breaking in upon this. “There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!”

Darcy, who had sworn to himself he would not speak another word while Mrs Bennet remained in the house, could not help but reply to this. “I have been used to consider poetry as the  _food_ of love,” he said.

“Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.”

Darcy could only smile, wholly charmed in spite of himself. He wished they were in private that they could continue this conversation, that he could challenge her properly and hear what delightful nonsense she might offer him in return, but they were not and he was aware that a silence had befallen and that Miss Elizabeth was beginning to look uneasy again, no doubt fearing what her mother might say to fill it. But she might have saved herself the alarm. After several more moments in which no one could thing of anything to say, Mrs Bennet began only to repeat her thanks to Mr Bingley and his kindness to Jane and apologising for troubling him also with Lizzy.

Bingley, back onto familiar territory with such innocuous remarks, dismissed her thanks and her apologies alike with unaffected civility. “For Miss Elizabeth has done us the favour of breaking up one or two tedious evenings already, you know, and it has given us great pleasure to be of such use to Miss Bennet while she is feeling so poorly. Does it not, Caroline?”

Caroline, looking as thought she had caught a crumb or two in her throat, nodded civilly. “Of course. Such a pleasure.” And after observing the expectant look on her brother's face, added, “They are both naturally welcome here for as long as it is needed.”

Mrs Bennet was satisfied, though Elizabeth, considerably more discerning, heard clearly the reluctance of Miss Bingley's response and looked mortified.

Deliverance was very soon given when Mrs Bennet finally ordered her carriage, but the wait for it to be brought around was not unenlivened, and the instant the footman disappeared the youngest of the Bennet daughters, Miss Lydia, who had been whispering with her sister at the other end of the table during the entire visit, now put herself forward.

“Mr Bingley,” she said with the natural assurance of a much-indulged child, “Did you not promise that you would give a ball? It would be the most shameful thing in the world if you did not keep it, you know.”

Looking only slightly surprised at this sudden attack, Bingley smiled. “I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement, and when your sister is recovered you shall, if you please, name the very day of the ball. But you would not wish to be dancing while she is ill.”

“Oh, yes! It would be much better to wait till Jane was well, and by that time most likely Captain Carter would be at Meryton again. And when you have given  _your_ ball I shall insist on their giving one also. I shall tell Colonel Foster it will be quite a shame if he does not.”

At that thankful point, Nicholls appeared to inform Mrs Bennet that her carriage was ready and with final partings Mrs Bennet and her two youngest daughters finally departed. Miss Elizabeth, looking very conscious, likewise excused herself to her sister's apartment, and the family was finally left alone.

“Really!” Caroline cried the moment the door was closed behind them. “The whole family is almost savage!”

“So crass! Such vulgarity! I hardly knew where to look.”

“You must not have marked Miss Eliza Bennet's countenance in that case. In spite of her _fine eyes_ she looked like she could _sink._ I very nearly felt pity for her except that I can't help but be disgusted at such naked disrespect for a parent.”

“Indeed, it is very unbecoming for a daughter to be so lost to gratitude. But it must be admitted that she was very sorely tried.”

“Oh! Without a doubt! I do not criticise her for _feeling_ scorn at such a display, but to _show_ it is a very different matter.”

“Very different, indeed. It shows a sad want of proper feeling on her part that I should not wish to be associated with in the general way of things.”

“I do hope you marked the younger girls, as well.”

“How could one not mark them, hissing into each others ears the whole visit.”

“And at the very end when that chit stood up and _demanded_ that we throw her a ball! I must say Charles, I feel you should not have given in to such importunities. Such boldness in one so young should not be rewarded.”

Charles, who sat unspeaking with his coffee in his hand, the only evidence of his paying any attention the slow thinning of his lips, merely shrugged. “But I did promise to throw a ball, Caroline,” he said simply. “She is just a child, after all. You are being much too hard on her. Do not you remember being fifteen and wishing to dance much more than you were ever permitted to?”

“I recall acting like a lady at fifteen, Charles, which these Bennets, you must admit, have no idea of.”

Charles, having said his piece however, could not be drawn to say more, and Caroline turned to Darcy instead.

“Surely you must agree with us, Mr Darcy. Such a vulgar display!”

“I do,” Darcy said. “It is unfortunate that such behaviour is common in the country. It is precisely why we avoid too close an association with the nearby town at Pemberley. The manufactories have raised families to wealth who believe that crude coin is the only thing that separates the base from the elevated.”

“Brava, sir! I could not conceive of you allowing dear Georgiana to run free with the lower classes as these girls are permitted to. It is almost no wonder that they have turned out as they are. Though with such a mother it is perhaps not so very surprising. Coming from such low origins herself she is likely blind to the improprieties in allowing her own children to indulge in such mixed company.”

“Such license as they are given is incomprehensible to any responsible guardian,” said Darcy.

Louisa agreed. “It is almost more a wonder that Jane has emerged as well-mannered as she is with such examples in her daily life.”

“Very true, sister!” said Caroline. “And Miss Eliza, for all her fine eyes, would do well to model her own behaviour on that of her eldest sister rather than allowing the remainder of her family to betray her into such poor manners. Indeed, her own conduct is not such that could bear scrutiny from a close observer. Do not you think, Mr Darcy?”

There was a pause. “I had not observed,” said Darcy.

This was such a blatant falsehood that for a moment there was complete silence, until Hurst, who had fallen asleep on a sofa in the corner, gave a snort and came suddenly awake.

“I say,” he said. “Is it time for nuncheon yet?”


	15. Quinze

The day passed much as the day before had done. Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who continued, though slowly, to mend, and the gentlemen went shooting with Chamberlayne, who had been released from his duties for the afternoon and had come to call on Charles.

The evening found the party, minus Chamberlayne, back in the drawing room where Elizabeth eventually joined them. The loo table had not appeared, as Darcy suspected Miss Elizabeth was anxious of the stakes, and his refusal to play had both Caroline and Louisa crying off as well. Instead, Charles and Hurst played piquet while Louisa observed, and Darcy sat down to write to Georgiana.

“To whom do you write, Mr Darcy?” asked Miss Bingley. She hovered for a moment, unsure whether to take the seat some yards away or if she should go through the trouble of having a footman move a chair closer to the writing desk where she might observe more closely. She compromised in the end by shifting the chair so that it faced Darcy more easily without seeming too eager.

“To my sister,” Darcy told her. “I have not heard from her for some weeks.”

“How surprising! I always thought her to be quite an accomplished letter writer, much like her brother.”

“You mistake; Georgiana finds such correspondence tedious. But she enjoys receiving letters and understands that to receive letters one must in turn solicit them.”

“I consider it quite an honour to receive letters from her in that case.”

“I was not aware that you regularly corresponded with my sister.”

“Not regularly perhaps, no, but I am sure I have several notes from her. I shall be sure to write her often from now on and such long letters that she is certain to be pleased. I shall tell her of all the exciting doings in Hertfordshire.” She then laughed heartily at her own wit.

Darcy, attempting to find some way to ask Georgiana how she did without in any way alluding to her upset, made no answer but to frown heavily at his paper.

Elizabeth came in then, curtsying to the room and answering Charles' query on how her sister did favourably. Darcy, who happened to have left several of his favourite books scattered strategically about the room earlier in the day, was disappointed when she took up some needlework instead.

There were several minutes of quiet, the only noise the murmur from the card table and the scratch of Darcy's pen.

“What fine hand-writing you have, Mr Darcy,” said Miss Bingley. She had been sitting quietly, watching the words unfolding across his page and wishing she was near enough to read them.

“Thank you,” Darcy murmured distractedly.

“And your lines, so even!”

He made no answer but frowned at his page again. He was trying to find a suitable word and Miss Bingley's comments kept breaking into his thoughts. _Forbearance? Fortitude?_

“You must tell her how much I long to see her.”

 _Longanimity?_ “I will do so, ma'am.”

“How long your letter is!”

_Long-suffering?_

“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”

_Docility?_

“You write uncommonly fast.”

 _Conformity?_ He suppressed a sigh. “You are mistaken, I write rather slowly.”

“How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of the year! Letters of business, too. How odious I should think them.”

“It is fortunate then that they fall to my lot instead of to yours.”

“Pray, tell your sister that I long to see her.”

“I have already told her so once, by your desire.” He stared at his page. _Long-suffering? Or have I already tried that?_ He frowned.

“I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.”

“Thank you, but I always mend my own.”

“How can you contrive to write so even?”

_Even-tempered?_

“Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp, and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her beautiful little design for a table and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley's.”

As the design for the table, presented to her guests over the summer, had since been scrapped from lack of interest, Darcy only said, “Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present I have not room to do them justice.”

“Oh, it is of no consequence! I shall see her in January. But do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr Darcy?”

“They are generally long, but whether always charming—it is not for me to determine.”

“It is a rule with me that a person who can write a long letter with ease cannot write ill.”

Charles, having lost his fob watch and his stick pin to his brother-in-law and was now come across the room in order to refill his brandy glass, heard this and could not help but interject. “That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline, because he does _not_ write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?”

Observing the interested gaze of Elizabeth, Darcy felt himself bridling at this teasing. “My style of writing is very different from yours,” he said stiffly.

“Oh!” cried Miss Bingley, “Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words and blots the rest!”

“My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them, by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents.”

“Your humility, Mr Bingley,” said Elizabeth, “Must disarm reproof.”

Darcy could not help but reply to this. “Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion and sometimes and indirect boast.”

“And which of the two do you call _my_ little recent piece of modesty?” Bingley said, a smile playing about his lips.

“The indirect boast—for you are really proud of your defects in writing because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with quickness is always much prized by the possessor and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself. And yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else?”

“Nay!” cried Bingley, “This is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning! And yet upon my honour, I believed what I said of myself to be true and I believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to show off before the ladies.”

“I daresay you believe it, but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite as dependent on chance as that of any man I know, and if, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, 'Bingley, you had better stay till next week,' you would probably do it, you would probably not go—and at another word might stay a month.”

Elizabeth broke in. “You have only proved by this that Mr Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he did himself.”

Bingley bowed to her. “I am exceedingly gratified by your converting what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means intend, for he would certainly think the better of me, if under such circumstances, I were to give a flat denial and ride off as fast as I could!”

“Would Mr Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention as atoned for your obstinacy in adhering to it?”

“Upon my word, I cannot exactly explain the matter. Darcy must speak for himself.”

“You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine but which I have never acknowledged,” Darcy protested. “Allowing the case, however, to stand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house and the delay of his plan has merely desired it, asked it without offering one argument in favour of its propriety.”

“To yield readily—easily—to the _persuasion_ of a friend is no merit with you?”

“To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either.”

“You appear to me, Mr Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often make one readily yield to a request without waiting for arguments to reason one into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case as you have supposed about Mr Bingley. We may as well wait, perhaps, till the circumstance occurs before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour thereupon. But in general and ordinary cases between friend and friend, where one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no very great moment, should you think ill of that person for complying with the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?”

He was sitting forward in his chair without realising it, eyes intent on Miss Elizabeth, watching the interest on her face as she was drawn into the subject. “Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject,” he said, “To arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting between the parties?”

“By all means,” cried Bingley suddenly, breaking in upon them and reminding Darcy that he was annoyed with him still. “Let us hear all the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and size, for that will have more weight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure you that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow in comparison with myself I should not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not know a more awful object than Darcy on particular occasions and in particular places—at his own house especially and of a Sunday evening when he has nothing to do.”

Darcy could have cheerfully kicked Bingley right then, feeling no humiliation was more complete, being teased in such a manner and before _her._ He forced himself to smile but did not dare look at Elizabeth, for he did not think he could bear to see her laughing at him again when only moments before she had been as rapt upon their conversation as he had been himself.

“For shame!” Caroline cried. “How can you talk such nonsense, Charles!”

Yet so intent upon his own displeasure, Darcy had failed too see Charles' own ire growing. He did not miss it now however, seeing plainly the impatient exasperation on his friend's face.

“I see your design, Bingley,” he said, more gently than he might have done only a moment since. “You dislike an argument and want to silence this.”

“Perhaps I do,” said Charles. “Arguments are too much like disputes. If you and Miss Bennet will defer yours till I am out of the room I shall be very thankful and then you may say whatever you like of me.”

“What you ask is no sacrifice on my side,” said Elizabeth. “And Mr Darcy had much better finish his letter.”

Darcy, taking her advice, turned back to the writing desk and Miss Bingley, silenced by a sense of ill-usage at being so long overlooked, made no more attempts to interrupt. As such, finding the words once more flowing, he soon finished his letter and having sealed and addressed it, feeling both emboldened and lightened by the previous conversation, he turned to Miss Bingley and Miss Bennet to request the indulgence of some music.

Miss Bingley, exultant at once more being noticed, moved with alacrity to the pianoforte without waiting for her guest, only remembering at the last moment to turn back and politely request that Miss Elizabeth lead the way. This Elizabeth just as politely refused, much to Darcy's disappointment and Caroline's triumph, and seating herself Caroline began to play. She was soon joined by Louisa who, tired of watching her husband losing to himself at Hazard, sang alongside her sister.

Miss Elizabeth, meanwhile, had wandered over to the instrument where she stood turning over some music books. Darcy, under guise of observing the performers, was able to watch her without much fear of being caught. Once or twice her gaze would flicker over towards him and he almost feared being challenged, but she said nothing, continuing at the pianoforte until he could hardly avoid understanding her intention. And as soon as the song changed to a lively Scotch air, he rose to his feet, fully intent on gratifying her patience and his own.

“Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?”

He knew she had seen him coming and yet she started nonetheless, giving way a moment later to an enigmatic smile before turning once more to the music books.

It took several moments of silence for him to realise she did not intend to answer him and he wondered if perhaps she had not heard him, so close to the musicians as they were, so he repeated himself a little more forcefully this time.

“Oh!” she said, “I heard you before, but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say 'yes' that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste, but I always delight in overthrowing those kind of schemes and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you that I do not want to dance a reel at all—and now despise me if you dare.”

For a moment he could not speak. Then, “Indeed, I do not dare,” he said, and knew it to be nothing but the truth. He could not despise her. He could hardly think of her without believing himself bewitched.

He bowed, accepting the rebuff and avoided answering the astounded look on Bingley's face by simply pretending not to see it, and as soon as the music was over and the ladies excused themselves to their beds, he followed them to his own.

Johnson, holding his own opinion of matters, found his master in a softened mood that night. He did not comment on it or mention the talk that had begun amongst the servants, but when Mr Darcy murmured absently, “After all, it is not as though she can be expecting an offer,” Johnson was acquainted enough with his master's thoughts to answer, “No, sir.”


	16. Seize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the random snow storm. It serves absolutely no purpose except that I was bored out of my mind from transcribing original dialogue and couldn't handle another day of "it passed much the same as yesterday."

It stormed that night and heavily into the next day, an unpleasant mix of snow and sleet, with tearing winds that rattled the windows and caused the candles to flicker and the fires to dance fretfully in the hearths.

Darcy, reading until late, was awake again only a few hours later when a limb from an overhanging oak broke from its parent tree and crashed into the balustrade of the balcony outside his room. The sudden gunshot crack of aged wood splitting against ancient stone was loud enough that Johnson rushed into the room, brandishing a fire iron, and a moment later Bingley and his man Pool from the next rooms over, followed by a parcel of footmen whose attic rooms overlooked that part of the house.

By the time Nicholls showed up and herded everyone back to their beds, it was four o'clock and Darcy was wide awake. He tossed restlessly until seven while sleet beat unceasingly against the windows and finally, as the hour chimed, forced himself to give up and roll out of bed. He decided to let Johnson sleep a little longer, building up the fire and settling himself into the the wing chair with the rest of his book, and it was there that he found himself when he woke again at ten o'clock, the wind died down and the sleet gentled to a light snow. Johnson, with the preternatural timing that the best valets seemed to possess, appeared almost before Darcy could think of calling for him, a tray already in his hands.

It was past eleven before Darcy made his way downstairs where he found the rest of the house only just sitting down to breakfast. Heavy eyes and pale faces told of a night of interrupted rest all around and the conversation at the table was resultingly desultory. Caroline made some attempt at discovering what the rest of the household intended for the day, but as the answers consisted mainly of unintelligible grunts and murmurs, with the exception of Hurst and Elizabeth Bennet who simply remained silent, the subject was not pursued and after the coffee made a final round the party dispersed.

The gentlemen retreated to the library where they played a halfhearted game of Hazard for chicken stakes, but after several fruitless rounds Hurst excused himself to the settee and Darcy retreated to a book. Bingley played a round of Patience before joining Darcy before the fire and was very soon asleep and Darcy, lulled by the unlikely account of the _The Female Soldier,_ chosen at random from among Charles' scant collection, soon joined him.

He woke some time later to find the room awash with pale November sunlight. The snow had stopped, leaving the yellowed lawns covered and the landscape little more than glittering shapes in a field of white. The air, suddenly cleared, gave sight over parkland and garden, and Darcy, rested and restless, wanted to be out in it. He left Charles and Hurst still asleep and went to don his coat.

The ground was too uncertain to take the horses out and it was too late to walk far, but the shrubbery with its sedate lawns and protective hedges offered safe opportunity for an amble. Nicholls was helping him into his coat when Caroline found him and upon inquiring his intent, immediately expressed a desire to join him. “For I have been wanting an opportunity to leave the house and could not feel comfortable doing so on my own.”

Darcy, wondering what danger she thought lurked in the gardens of Netherfield Park, merely bowed and told her he would wait.

Several years intimacy between the family parties had Caroline fairly well acquainted with Darcy's intolerance for feminine indecision and she did not keep him waiting long. In fifteen minutes she was returned, thick boots and a sturdy walking dress replacing slippers and delicate muslin with its shawl of Norwich silk. Several petticoats and the thick wool stockings added to her ensemble had created some difficulty in that lady's breast, for while it was not fashionable and thus would not have her appear at her best in Darcy's company, it would keep her warm enough to remain in his presence.

The afternoon was a fine one and the snow was not deep in the sheltered walks of the shrubbery so they were able to enjoy the first snowfall of the year without becoming hopelessly mired in it.

Without the spectre of Elizabeth Bennet hovering over her, Caroline was able to relax a little, becoming something closer to the witty socialite Darcy was more accustomed to from London. As they walked, they enjoyed a comfortable gossip as two friends who could depend upon the other to share their particular views. They speculated on the identity of the latest authoress to take the  _ton_ by storm, though both agreed that the subjects of the novels were far too provincial to be anyone they knew; they weighed in on the seeming split between Beau Brummel and the Prince Regent and wondered if anything would come of it; they agreed wholeheartedly that Miss Anne Lister's latest starts were scandalous; and they laughed together at the latest  _on dits_ involving Lady Caro Lamb and shared a mutual sympathy with Lord Melbourne. But this last was unfortunate as the sad state of one marriage reminded Caroline of the possibility of another.

“You shall not have to concern yourself with such triflings when _you_ wed, however,” she said, “For whenever your Miss Eliza does something scandalous she will merely have to show you her fine eyes and all shall be forgiven.”

“I should hope that I am not so blind to any of my wife's faults.”

“But indeed how shall you help yourself! For I expect you to be too far under her spell to object and when we come to visit it will be to find you deaf and dumb, utterly insensible to any conceivable faults.”

“It is fortunate in that case that her faults are so few and of such insignificance that she will not require the frequent use of her eyes to incite my forgiveness.”

“Nay! I cannot accept that. If nothing else think of your servants who must forever be cleaning her muddy hems! And if ill-bred independence is not a fault in Hertfordshire it must still be in London.”

“But my house is in Derbyshire and we may always stay there.”

“You have an answer for everything, sir.”

“Indeed, but I pray you will not let it discourage you.”

“If you will not admit fault in your bride, you must at least allow it in her family, for I hope you will give your mother-in-law a few hints when this desirable event takes place as to the advantage of holding her tongue. And if you can compass it, do cure the younger girls of running after the officers. And if I may mention such a delicate subject, endeavour to check that little something, bordering on conceit and impertinence, which your lady possesses.”

“Have you anything else to propose for my domestic felicity?”

“Oh, yes! Do let the portraits of your uncle and aunt Phillips be placed in the gallery at Pemberley. Put them next to your great uncle, the judge. They are in the same profession, you know, only in different lines. As for your Elizabeth's picture, you must not attempt to have it taken, for what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?”

“It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but their colour and shade and the eyelashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied.”

At that moment the walk opened up to meet another path and Louisa, along with the very subject of their conversation, appeared before them.

Darcy, overcome with mortification in case they had been overheard, and wonder at the sight Elizabeth made with cheeks and eyes both brightened by the cold, felt Caroline's own hand convulse suddenly on his arm.

“I did not know that you intended to walk,” she said with the same confusion that Darcy felt.

“You used us abominably ill in running away without telling us that you were coming out,” answered Louisa, then moving towards them she took Darcy's disengaged arm, leaving Elizabeth to walk by herself.

Darcy, fully conscious of their rudeness, immediately said, “This walk is not wide enough for our party. We had better go into the avenue.”

But Elizabeth merely laughed. “No, no! Stay where you are—you are charmingly grouped and appear to uncommon advantage. The picturesque would be spoiled by admitting a fourth.” And without waiting for a reply she bid them goodbye and went gaily off, kicking bright puffs of snow before her.

Darcy, feeling unaccountably breathless, did not at first hear what the two ladies on his arms were speaking of, but he was brought back by Louisa's question of whom they had been speaking when she had come upon them. “I thought you were speaking of having a portrait taken. Is it to be a commission for Miss Darcy?”

In even deeper confusion he could only nod.

The walk did not last much longer. Darcy found it impossible to overcome his embarrassment and was largely silent and the ladies quickly found themselves growing chilled. They soon made their way back to the house.

Darcy settled in the parlour overlooking the back terrace with a book, telling himself he was enjoying the last of the view before it grew dark, but he found himself distracted by every motion and noise that came from the other side of the French doors, and finally when a footman came in to draw the curtains and light the candles, he could not help but express some concern that Miss Bennet had failed to return to the house.

The servant looked surprised but assured Mr Darcy that Miss Elizabeth had returned some time ago and was even now with her sister, for he himself had brought the water up for their baths.

Darcy, feeling foolish, dismissed him.

Dinner was held an hour earlier than usual to counteract the absence of nuncheon due to the later than usual breakfast and it was a more lively affair than the household's previous meal together. The party was refreshed and made festive by the snow and talk passed gaily across table and partner alike. Darcy could not keep his gaze from Elizabeth's animated expression as she and Bingley debated the attractions of a wild park over the virtues of a manicured garden. She told him of her and Jane's favourite neighbourhood walk and Charles made her promise to show it to him as soon as her sister was well enough to make the distance again.

When the ladies removed after dinner, even Hurst was moved to join the conversation when it turned to the latest comet to grace the London sky, a Covent Garden dasher named Norah Jones, but the pleasures of Vauxhall were eventually discarded when Bingley wondered aloud if Miss Bennet and her sister should like to go when next they all found themselves in town. Talk then turned to politics and war, the prince's rejection of his old Whig companions and the decaying relations between France and Russia, and an hour passed in more pleasant conversation than Darcy could remember having with Hurst in the same room.

Bingley finally broke up their party by declaring it past time to join the ladies, and as they entered the drawing room Darcy found out why. Seated near the fire were _four_ ladies: Miss Jane Bennet was down from her room at last.

Miss Bingley, calling the gentlemen immediately to them, demanded their excuses for waiting so long to appear when they must have known how dull it would be without them. Darcy, feeling this remark would be best ignored, went straight to Miss Bennet to congratulate her on her emancipation from the sick room and even Hurst gave a slight bow and said he was very glad. Bingley was effusive in his warmth however. He was full of joy and attention and the first half hour was spent in him piling up the fire and finding what few cushions remained after Elizabeth's attentions and packing them around Miss Bennet as though afraid she might crumble if not bolstered up all around. This was quickly undone by his then insisting she move to the other side of the fire where she might be farther from the door, and after adjusting the screen and replacing all the pillows and blankets, he finally sat down beside her and spoke to no one but her for the rest of the night, with occasional asides from Louisa the only interruption he would allow.

Once tea was over, Hurst reminded Caroline of the card-table, but in vain. She had obtained private intelligence that Mr Darcy did not wish for cards, and Hurst soon found even his open petition rejected. She assured him that no one intended to play and the silence of the whole party on the subject seemed to justify her. Mr Hurst had therefore nothing to do but stretch himself on one of the sofas and go to sleep.

Darcy took up one of the books he had previously left in the room and a moment later saw Caroline do the same, choosing the second volume to his own, and Darcy spent a moment entertaining himself with the idea of starting up a conversation with her on the subject.

He was aware of her regard as he attempted to read and felt more annoyance due to it preventing him from observing Miss Elizabeth, seated on the other side of the room with her needlework, than because of the distraction such scrutiny caused. He forced his attention on his page, however, his eyes reading the words before him without his mind taking in a single meaning from them.

“How fast you read, Mr Darcy,” Caroline said admiringly from the other side of the sofa they shared.

“I was not aware that I did so,” he replied.

She leaned over to peer at his page. “Oh I enjoyed that part very much. Do not you like it, Mr Darcy?”

As Darcy had as little idea what the page before him contained as she must, he felt no compunction in answering, “No, I found this passage quite dry.”

“Oh! Dry, perhaps, but so informative.”

“If one cares for such a subject.”

She was silenced, but not for long.

“And what is your opinion on the protagonist?”

As the book was a history of the buccaneers of the Americas, he said “Not favourably, I'm afraid.”

She peered over at his page again. “After all, Rachel Wall is quite a common name, is it not?”

“Quite common.”

She seemed to run out of things to say for she was silent for several minutes after this, turning the pages of her own volume at odd intervals and occasionally sighing. Darcy could not but congratulate himself on his own relative skill at dissembly in comparison.

At length, Caroline yawned. “How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way!” she said. “I declare after all, there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of anything than a book. When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.”

When no one made any reply she yawned again and threw her book aside. Casting her eyes around the room in quest for some amusement, she heard her brother mentioning a ball to Miss Jane Bennet and she turned suddenly towards him.

“By the bye, Charles,” she said. “Are you really serious in meditating a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party. I am much mistaken if there are not some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure.”

“If you mean Darcy,” said Charles, “He may go to bed if he chooses, before it begins. But as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing and as soon as Mrs Nicholls has made white soup enough I shall send round my cards.”

“I should like balls infinitely better if they were carried on in a different manner,” she replied. “But there is something insufferably tedious in the usual process of such a meeting. It would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing made the order of the day.”

“Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say, but it would not be near so much like a ball.”

Caroline could make no answer to this, and although Darcy was filled with a nearly irresistible urge to see Miss Elizabeth's reaction to this conversation, he managed to control the impulse.

After a very few more minutes in which no entertainment presented itself to her, Caroline soon got up and walked about the room. She had an elegant figure and she knew she walked well, but Darcy, at whom it was all aimed, remained inflexibly studious, and in the desperation of her feelings she resolved on one effort more to draw his full notice and so turned to Elizabeth.

“Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example and take a turn about the room. I assure you it is very refreshing after sitting so long in one attitude.”

She succeeded: Darcy looked up and was in time to catch the surprise on Miss Elizabeth's face. But she rose immediately and Caroline took her arm, and only somewhat stiffly she allowed herself to be guided about the room.

Darcy had not realised he had closed his book until Caroline, directing Elizabeth's steps towards him, asked whether he would join them.

“Indeed, no,” he said, “For I can imagine only two motives for your choosing to walk up and down the room together, either of which my joining you would only interfere.”

This was better than even Caroline could have hoped, observing the teasing light in Mr Darcy's eye and the flirtatious lilt to a mouth that had been almost nothing but stern since their arrival in Hertfordshire.

“What could you mean, sir?” Caroline demanded delightedly. “I am dying to know what could be your meaning! My dear Miss Eliza, can you at all understand the gentleman?”

“Not at all,” Elizabeth answered, “But depend upon it, he means to be severe on us and our surest way of disappointing him will be to ask nothing about it.”

“Nay, that shall not do for me! I must know, sir, for I distrust that look and demand an explanation of its meaning. What motives could you possibly attribute to a simple walk about the room?”

He was not disappointed that it was not Elizabeth but Caroline who asked. Indeed, he would have been more so had she shown her interest so clearly. But he was not sorry that Caroline was there to press him for his reasons: he wished very much for Elizabeth to hear them. “I have not the smallest objection to explaining them,” he said. “You either choose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other's confidence and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking. If the first, I should be completely in your way, and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire.”

“Oh! Shocking!” cried Caroline on perfect cue. “I have never heard anything so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?”

Elizabeth, who had shown no reaction but the sudden lift of her expressive brows, smiled now. “Nothing so easy, if you have but the inclination,” she said. “We can all plague and punish one another. Tease him, laugh at him. Intimate as you are, you must know how it is to be done.”

Caroline, torn between triumph at this acknowledgement of her intimacy with Darcy and an absolute unwillingness to chance offending him, protested: “But upon my honour, I do _not!_ I do assure you that my intimacy has not yet taught me _that._ Tease calmness of temper and presence of mind? No, no—I feel he may defy us there. And as to laughter, we will not expose ourselves, if you please, by attempting to laugh without a subject. Mr Darcy may hug himself.”

“Mr Darcy is not to be laughed at!” cried Elizabeth. “That is an uncommon advantage, and uncommon I hope it will continue, for it would be a great loss to _me_ to have many such acquaintance. I dearly love a laugh.”

Darcy, who had been smiling at the start of this, quickly grew stern. Here was the perfect opportunity to gently correct the lady, to kerb the flippancy he saw in her manner. “Miss Bingley has given me credit for more than can be. The wisest and the best of men, nay, the wisest and best of their actions, may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke.”

“Certainly,” replied Elizabeth. “There are such people, but I hope I am not one of _them._ I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies _do_ divert me I own and I laugh at them whenever I can. But these, I suppose, are precisely what you are without.”

“Perhaps that is not possible for anyone. But it has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which often expose a strong understanding to ridicule.”

“Such as vanity and pride.”

He could not fail to hear the accusation in this and was not able to keep the impatience from his own voice when he answered. “Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride—where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.”

She did not answer but turned away. He was concerned at first that she was stung at the rebuke, but the angle of her head as she then looked down revealed the corner of a smile and he realised, with a sudden anger, that she was once more laughing at him.

“You examination of Mr Darcy is over, I presume,” Caroline said. “And pray, what is the result?”

“I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr Darcy has no defect,” Elizabeth said. “He owns it himself without disguise.”

This was such a patent misrepresentation of what he had said he knew she could not possibly believe it. “No,” he said, “I have made no such pretension. I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding—Certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offences against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful—My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.”

“ _That_ is a failing indeed,” said Elizabeth. “Implacable resentment _is_ a shade in a character. But you have chosen your fault well—I really cannot _laugh_ at it. You are safe from me.”

But Darcy found, in having finally succeeded in making Elizabeth cease laughing at him, he could somehow even less bear her censure. She stood there, looking unflinchingly grave, and he imagined her judging him, weighing him like Athena and finding him wanting.

“There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil,” he said. “A natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.”

“And _your_ defect is a propensity to hate everybody,” she said and it was such a ridiculous accusation that he knew he had been forgiven.

“And yours,” he replied with a smile, “Is wilfully to misunderstand them.”

“Do let us have a little music,” cried Caroline suddenly, breaking in upon Darcy's attention, and he saw Elizabeth sharply inhale and look away, just as focussed on him as he had been on her. He felt the loss of the connection sharply, but as she walked back to her needlework he thought perhaps it was no bad thing that they had been interrupted. As Caroline began a lively French air on the pianoforte, he thought he began to feel the danger of paying Miss Elizabeth Bennet too much attention.


	17. Dix-sept

On Saturday, Darcy received the intelligence with his morning tray that a note had been sent round to Longbourn House by the younger Miss Bennet. It was surmised among the staff at Netherfield Hall that it contained a request for the family's carriage in order to transport the young ladies back home.

“How very fascinating,” Darcy said caustically to Johnson, who was fussing with the bed linens.

Catching the irony of his master's remark, Johnson looked delicately away and said, “I thought perhaps you would like to know, sir.”

“Indeed?”

Not missing the danger in that normally placid tone, Johnson stopped fussing and straightened. “It is the duty of a gentleman's gentleman to inform his master of anything that must effect him, even if his master is not yet cognizant of the fact. Shall I get your shaving water ready, sir?”

“You are mistaken, Johnson.”

“You do not wish your shaving water, Mr Darcy?”

“You know precisely what I mean and if you wish to ever get my shaving water again you will discourage this talk among the staff and you will kindly refrain from informing me of things until I tell you for a fact that I am interested in them. Am I clear?”

“Very, sir. Does this include the shaving water, sir?”

“Damn your eyes, Johnson, just let me drink my coffee without having to think about a single Bennet or I swear to you I'll have you mucking out the stables with Thomas before noon.”

“Yes, sir,” said Johnson, understanding with this imprecation that he was once more in favour and went to fetch the shaving water.

Darcy did not think about the Bennets with his coffee. He thought of too-knowing servants who one could not dismiss instead, but by the time he reached the bottom of the cup the subject was exhausted and, as he was once more resigned to his lot in life, his mind finally wandered to the mysterious note and the Bennet who had sent it.

She was leaving. Miss Bennet had sat almost the whole evening with them, even eating a little supper in the drawing room before going back to her chamber with her sister in tow. It was clear she was feeling well enough to brave the three mile carriage ride to her home. It was only natural, of course. They did not live here and were not even particularly welcome. So why did it seem as though the house would suddenly be empty upon their departure? _No, do not be more foolish than you must, man._ It had nothing to do with Miss Bennet at all. No, it was entirely her sister.

It was foolish, utterly foolish. He could not marry her and gently born daughters of the minor gentry were not acceptable targets for any other form of intimacy, regardless of how much that gentleman wished otherwise. But no, that was not true, for Darcy knew he would not ruin or otherwise wish to deceive Elizabeth Bennet even if he thought he could. And he did not for an instant think he could. Dear Miss Elizabeth would just as soon hand his bollocks to him in her gathering basket before allowing him any liberties, and he did not doubt she would laugh heartily at him while she did so.

So marriage was out; seduction was certainly out. That left...nothing. Because the nephew of an earl and the son of a Darcy did not marry the daughter of an obscure country gentleman, especially not when said daughter's matrilineal bloodlines could be traced right to the solicitors office in the next town. And  _such_ a mother. Good God. His family could barely tolerate his friendship with Bingley and he had never even revealed to them his vaguely hoped for plans for Georgiana's future, and Bingley and his sisters at least had education and manners and a mother from some of the most exalted bloodlines in the country, even if that family chose barely to acknowledge it. Oh, an invitation to the occasional large party and a nodding acquaintance in the park to keep the tattlemongers from getting their hooks in, but it was widely known that Charles Bingley and his sisters were the grandchildren of a earl, even if their parents' marriage had been the scandal of its time.  _She_ at least had enough sense to fall in love with someone wealthy so when her family cut her off she did not have to starve.

Not that Darcy was in danger of starving should he choose to displease his family. And Georgiana, whatever she might do or wish for her future would never be treated to such short shrift as the unfortunate Mrs Bingley had been. If she chose to marry his secretary he would—well, he would do his damnedest to discourage her and might ship her off to his aunt in Cornwall, but he would certainly not disown her. And if she ran off with some cursed rum touch or a Johnny raw with pockets to let, well, he would just have to live with it—after he ran hell for leather with a horsewhip to try and catch the basket scrambler first. But not Georgiana. No, not after George Wickham. She had learnt that lesson once and God and Darcy willing she would not repeat it.

But Elizabeth Bennet was not some schoolroom miss. He wondered if she had ever been a schoolroom miss. He could not imagine her sitting patiently for a governess or tutor, sedately learning her letters and the Kings of England. No, he could more easily picture her ransacking her father's library and climbing trees in her pinafore. He wondered vaguely if she knew how to play chess and had a sudden image of her in his own library at Pemberley, learning the pieces of his great-grandfather's carved ivory set, late winter sunlight turning her hair russet in its glow.

“Your razor, sir?”

Darcy blinked. His coffee was gone, his toast was eaten, his chin was lathered, and Johnson was holding his razor out on a tray for him with a carefully schooled expression on his too-knowing face.

“Not a word, Johnson,” Darcy said, accepting his razor.

“No, sir.”

*****

The request was made at breakfast, where Miss Bennet herself joined them, looking pale and tired but well enough to walk to the room on her own and to attempt to fill her own plate from the sideboard.

She was prevented by Charles who took the plate from her hands and ushered her to a chair with scoldings on how she should not exert herself when the services of a dozen footmen were there to fulfill her every need, and having said so went immediately to fill the plate himself, heaping it full of the choicest morsels and ignoring her every protestation that she could not possibly eat so much.

“Nonsense, for you have been ill and need to build up your strength if you are to dance every dance with me at my own ball.” He said it laughingly but Darcy could not help the alarm he felt. Surely not even Charles would be so lost to propriety. He would have to offer for the girl if he did anything so foolish and he could only imagine the crowing triumph of that harpy of a mother then.

Miss Bennet seemed to take this in the spirit in which it was meant however, for she laughed softly and disbelievingly and thanked him prettily for her breakfast.

Miss Elizabeth, he noted, had her own plate in hand, peering at the sideboard with interest for the particular dishes. He imagined himself going up to her, taking the plate from her hand as Charles had done with Miss Bennet, pressing her into her seat while she blushed and declaimed. But he would not choose her breakfast himself as Charles had done. He would have a footman do so so that he may sit himself beside her and goad her into laughing statements. Why waste a moment of time with such mundane tasks when he could instead spend them at her side? Bingley was a fool.

His attention was wrested to said fool across the table when Charles, in a sudden tone of dismay, cried out to Miss Bennet, “Leave? I could not possibly allow it!”

So it was true, not that Darcy had doubted Johnson. The blasted man had never been wrong about anything yet.

“You and your sisters have been everything kind,” Miss Bennet was saying. “I could not have asked for better friends. But I'm afraid we must go home, Mr Bingley. I am much better you see, and we must not impose on you.”

“Nonsense, for you are pale as ever. Is she not pale, Darcy? Look, she is flushed, it might very well be fever, you know. You must not be moved. I will send for Jones directly and he will tell you the same, I am certain.”

At this moment Caroline entered the room and Charles instantly called on her for support.

“Do not you agree with me Caroline that Miss Bennet must stay a little longer? Look how pale she is, she cannot be well enough to travel!”

Caroline, who really did find pleasure and a willing audience in Jane's gentle and uncritical presence, in a neighbourhood otherwise bereft of suitable company, quite sincerely seconded her brother. “Indeed, no, Jane, you must stay,” she told her friend. “Think how much good you do myself and Louisa, for we should not know how to go on without your company!”

“You are very kind,” Jane said. “But we could not possibly. To continue on now that I am better would be unconscionable.”

“Nonsense, for you see how you are wanted!” Charles protested. “You and your sister must stay. Miss Elizabeth will surely agree with me, for she could not wish you to risk yourself.”

But Elizabeth, who had been watching this scene, could not agree. “Jane is so much better, you see,” she said, then added laughingly, “And surely you must wish your house to yourself again! For nothing is more vexatious than a guest who will not leave before they have become tiresome!”

Bingley protested this but Caroline was silent, as if only now recalling that the continued presence of one sister meant the regrettable addition of the other. But she forced a smile and turning pointedly to Elizabeth, said, “But Jane, of course, could never be tiresome.”

Elizabeth made no answer but a smile and Bingley was too intent on the compliment to Jane to notice the slight to Elizabeth.

Darcy noted it and could not but feel that it was a very good thing that the Bennets were determined on their departure. Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. Aside from the fact that she attracted him far more than he liked, Caroline's incivility towards her grew more apparent every day and Caroline's teasing towards himself had never been so frequent. He was aware that his behaviour towards Elizabeth until now had been too obvious and that she must soon begin to congratulate herself on his attentions. A removal now could only be a good thing, giving his actions time to obscure themselves in her memory and giving himself time to recall what he owed to himself and to his family. And if Charles had his way and the Bennets' departure was delayed, Darcy would do everything in his power to ensure no sign of admiration should escape him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity. He knew that if anything in his behaviour had already suggested such to her, his actions during the final day of her visit must have material weight in confirming or crushing it.

Across the table, Charles was still attempting to convince Miss Bennet that she was indeed very ill. Miss Bennet, however, was firm where she felt herself to be right, and she refused to be cajoled, though she smiled at his attempts.

Thinking that perhaps another day to convince Elizabeth that he did not like her was for the best, Darcy said, “But did not you say you required the use of a carriage, Miss Bennet? I am afraid they are being cleaned at present and could not possibly be ready until tomorrow.”

“What, all of them?” Elizabeth was heard to murmur.

Darcy, remembering his resolution, looked at her coldly and said nothing.

Charles quickly latched onto his friend's excuse. “Yes! Of course Darcy, how foolish of me. For I recall now asking that they all be thoroughly cleaned for Sunday,” he said, lying outrageously. “For we attend service at Stoke, you know. A very grand place and I would not wish to look shabby.”

Caroline, looking as though she had swallowed a lemon, determinedly attended her breakfast plate.

The Misses Bennet shared a glance.

“I suppose, as you are all so kind in wishing us to stay, one more day will not hurt,” Jane said. “But we must go home tomorrow.”

“Only since you insist on it,” Charles said. “But you must tell me if you feel the slightest bit unwell. You must not risk yourself when there is no need, for we are delighted to have you here. Both of you,” he said, glancing at Elizabeth with a sincere if absent smile. Elizabeth, grinning crookedly at this obvious aside, merely nodded and drank her tea.

A compromise having been reached, they finished their breakfast in easy silence, the only conversation that between Charles and Jane. As soon as she professed herself replete, Charles moved his own plate aside and offered his arm in order to show her the picture gallery that belonged to the house and in which she expressed some interest.

Darcy, suppressing the desire to roll his eyes, excused himself and took himself off to the stables in order to inform the men there that they were meant to be cleaning the carriages. But when he arrived, it was to find the task already underway, with all six of the closed carriages in residence dragged from their stalls.

Thomas saw him coming and met him some yards away. Darcy's groom was not the most expressive of men, but Darcy could not miss the glitter of amusement in the old man's eye.

“You weren't wanting the carriage now, were you, Master Fitzwilliam?”

“Don't you Master Fitzwilliam me, you old fraudster. How in hell did you know, for I'll wager Mr Bingley did not mention it.”

“Nay, but Sally from the kitchens brought the ale out and just so happened to mention that a footman might have heard some such gammon about prettifying the carriages for church tomorrow. Happen we all clean forgot so 'twas a good thing she thought to mention it.”

“Now it's you pitching the gammon, old man. But I see I am  _de trop._ Between you and Johnson it's a wonder I even bother to get out of bed.”

Thomas did not answer but rewarded Darcy with a reassuring pat on the shoulder that left Darcy thinking that Thomas probably thought him getting out of bed in the morning only unnecessarily complicated things.

He went back to the house where he took his unread letters to the library. There was nothing terribly urgent and still nothing from Georgiana, so instead of thinking about it he picked up  _The Odyssey_ in order to while away the rest of the morning.

Ten minutes later the door opened and Elizabeth appeared. She stopped abruptly in the doorway when she saw him. “Oh, forgive me. I did not think anyone was in here.”

She turned to leave and for a few seconds Darcy thought he might actually be able to let her, but at the very last moment, before the door swung shut, he called out.

“You needn't go. You do not disturb me.”

She paused and turned back, and though she still looked hesitant he did not engage her again. He had said his piece and he would let her do what she wished with it. The library, though almost barren of books, was a large enough room to house two people without troubling either unduly. So he stared at his page and pretended he was reading while she hovered in the corner of his eye.

Finally, she stepped into the room, and leaving the door slightly open, moved to a chair that was only a little removed from Darcy's. Sitting down, she quickly settled and in a few minutes was completely engrossed in her book.

Darcy tried to read and could not. He did not look at her and would not speak to her, but every part of him was aware that she was in the room and only a little distance away. He thought of what he could say. He could ask if she had read Homer. If she knew of the Homeric Question and what her opinion on it was. Did she prefer  _The Iliad_ or  _The Odyssey_ and did she think they could have possibly been written by the same hand. Did she think modern poetry could ever compete with the mastery of the Greeks and if so which poets and why.

But he did not. He stared at his book and occasionally, when he remembered, he turned a page.

After what might have been half an hour or half an eternity, a footman entered, bowing to Miss Elizabeth and informing her that the ladies were requesting her presence in the morning room for a game of quadrille. There was a moment in which Darcy thought Elizabeth would refuse. She sighed and for an instant seemed to shrink back into her chair as thought she might merge with it and thereby be overlooked. But it was only a moment and then she collected herself, rising to her feet and saying that she would go, and putting her book down on the occasional table at her side, she did.

The instant the door was closed behind her Darcy was on his feet, snatching at the book as though it were some treasure long lost. He stared at it, but both the title and the inscription were unfamiliar to him.  _Sense and Sensibility: A Novel In Three Volumes by A Lady._ A novel. Elizabeth was reading a novel while he debated the Homeric Question with her in his mind. He almost felt betrayed before he reminded himself that she meant nothing to him, that her decisions could have no effect on him and that her person and her mind were not in his keeping nor would they ever be.

He replaced the novel on the table where she had left it and went back to his own chair where, after another twenty minutes he could only be grateful when Charles appeared seeking a game of piquet.

The rest of the day passed as slowly as any day that Darcy could remember. He spent a great deal of it leaving rooms as soon as Elizabeth entered them and adhering strictly to whatever task he set himself, whether it was reading, writing his man of business, playing cards, or rolling the dice with Hurst after dinner. For her part, Elizabeth hardly seemed to notice. She read, spoke to Jane and Charles, pretended not to notice Caroline's occasional barbs, plied her needle, and played _vingt-et-un_ with the other ladies and Charles.

When it was time to retire that night, Darcy hardly knew whether or not to congratulate himself. She had shown him not the least awareness and it piqued him more than he wished to admit. He lay awake for some time thinking on it before finally reaching an explanation: she had noticed his coldness and, in an effort to save her pride, had responded with her own. Content at having solved the mystery, he finally fell asleep.


	18. Dix-huit

On Sunday, after morning service, the separation so agreeable to almost all took place. Caroline's civility to Elizabeth increased at the last very rapidly, along with her affection for Jane, and when they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to see her either at Longbourn or Netherfield, and embracing her most tenderly, she even shook hands with the former. Elizabeth, for her part, took leave of the whole party in the liveliest of spirits, which Darcy could only observe and admire. Whether she was putting on an act worthy of Drury Lane or that she felt she had gained some point over him he could not be sure, but although the impulse behind it was a mystery, the action that resulted was masterful and he could not but be grateful that her vexing, fascinating presence would be gone.

Even more vexatious was that, not five minutes after the carriage pulled away, he found himself missing her.

He refused to indulge this misplaced emotion, however. Dragging a despondent Bingley from the house on Monday, he took him to call on their neglected neighbours. They called first at the Great House at Stoke, a minor holding of the Marquis of Roth where the Dowager Lady Roth lived with an indigent niece who was nearly as old as she was and who hardly left her house, and then on to Ashworth to visit Robinson. They found William Goulding there as well which could not please Darcy but the two younger gentlemen had enough enthusiasm in each others company that they did not even notice Darcy's frowns. Robinson noticed and observed it with a wry humour that instantly reminded Darcy of Elizabeth and had his hackles rising at the implied criticism from a man who could barely claim the rights of the gentry with his meagre acres. That his objection to Robinson stemmed from jealousy he refused to acknowledge. He was grateful to see Charles lifted from his preoccupied state, however, and after the visit he let his friend rattle on for a while about young Goulding's plan for the maltings and even consented to see the one he had purchased on his recommendation.

The next day, as a sop to Bingley and propriety, they took their horses with the intention of calling on the denizens of Longbourn Village, including those inhabitants of its principal house which Charles was so eager to see again.

Their route took them through Meryton and upon reaching the main street of the town, Charles gave a sudden glad cry. “Look! There she is!” he said, and turned his horse towards a party of some seven or eight people standing before the millinery. Darcy, espying Elizabeth as part of the group, tamped down his own eagerness and followed more sedately.

“Miss Bennet! How glad I am to see you, and in the pink of health,” Charles exclaimed. “We were just on our way to Longbourn to inquire after you.”

Darcy, looked to, corroborated this with a bow, his eyes diverted in his determination not to look at Miss Elizabeth. He was aware of her, however, a vague shape in white and green, a dark bonnet on her head and a pair of glowing cheeks. She stood, one among many, and he wondered how even in a crowd, not even looking at her, he could still pick out exactly where she was. She stood between two gentlemen and he felt a brief surge of protective jealousy before he tamped it determinedly into submission, telling himself he was unworthy of such emotions, before something familiar about one of those figures caught his eye and he stiffened.

“But I can see you are feeling better,” Charles was saying. “How well you look!”

Blushing, Miss Bennet could only thank him. “You are very kind. Yes, I am much better as you see and eager to be out. What a lovely day, is it not?”

“Without parallel,” Bingley said without a shade of untruth. “Much too good to content ourselves with a stroll about the shrubbery and what better excuse than to inquire after friends? Can we accompany you anywhere? But no, I see Denny has beaten us to it. Hello, old chap!”

Denny, stepping forward, accepted the proffered hand with pleasure. “How good to see you both! I was in London since you've seen me but I heard you had good shooting with Chamberlayne. I suppose you have heard that Colonel Forster has finally decided to put on leg-shackles.”

“It is such a good joke!” Miss Lydia interjected. “For she is three years older than me and not nearly so pretty.”

“Ah, but the Colonel has known the family from short coats, you know,” Denny said with a smile. “I believe the attachment has been of longstanding.”

“It is very romantic, I think,” Miss Catherine said with a somewhat defiant look at her younger sister.

“Pooh!” Lydia replied, “She has fifteen thousand pounds. I wonder if someone would marry me if I had fifteen thousand pounds.”

“You are a great deal too young to marry anybody,” said Elizabeth dampeningly.

“I am sure we all wish the Colonel every happiness,” Miss Bennet said with a speaking look at Miss Lydia, who rolled her eyes but subsided.

“We shall certainly call upon them,” Charles said. “In the meantime, I can see Miss Lydia and Miss Catherine are wishing us to perdition, for I saw myself the new muslins in the window at the linen draper.” He smiled at them and Lydia grinned back with a smug look at her eldest sisters, who ignored her.

Giving the company a final bow and Miss Bennet a final earnest look, Charles bid them good day and rode on, Darcy utterly silent at his side.

Bingley, engrossed in his own thoughts, took several long minutes to notice Darcy's silence, and when he finally did he looked over to find his friend's face suffused in such an expression of rage that for a moment he could think of nothing to say.

“Darcy, old man,” he said in some shock. “Whatever is the matter?”

“There is nothing the matter,” Darcy snapped, but the look of concern on Bingley's face at this sudden flare of temper forced him to take a breath. “Forgive me. Will you object to not asking me right at this moment?”

“Of course, I will not intrude, but you know you may trust me if you find you have need to speak of it.”

“I do know. Thank you, Charles, and I will tell you later, for you will hardly help knowing once you learn of the gentleman's presence in this neighbourhood.”

Charles frowned and for some minutes they rode in silence. As they reached the end of the town however and found themselves on the quiet Longbourn road, he once more hesitantly spoke. “I have only known you to take one man in such dislike, and perhaps one woman but of _her_ we shall not speak. The other, however—forgive me, my friend—could you mean to tell me that the scoundrel who attempted to run off with your sister is here?”

“ _Here?_ ” Darcy exploded. “You did not see him, stood there among decent members of society, utterly unashamed as though he had not been scraped from the bottom of the dankest rock in England. The dastard! As though he were not a bloodsucking leech, preying on the most vulnerable! I should have called him out after Ramsgate—Nay, for the blasted skirter has no honour to defend; I should have had him pressganged. Richard wished to but I told him no, fool that I was. The gallowsbait belongs in Hell, if not among the cannon fodder!”

“Good God, man! What shall we do? Surely we should say something, do something!”

“Do what?” Darcy scoffed. “Say what? What can I say that will not also condemn Georgiana?”

“Perhaps he will move on, now that he has seen you. He must know he is at risk of being found out with you in the neighbourhood.”

“You give the loose fish too much credit for good sense. The man is a gambler. If anything he will see my presence here as a challenge. The man is out to ruin me, I am convinced of it. No, the best thing to do is ignore him. He will tire of the game and move on when he sees there is nothing for him to win. But you will do well to avoid playing with him: he is a Captain Sharp if I have ever known one.”

“Play with him! I shall have nothing to do with the man! He will not come near me nor any of my family. If you give me leave, I will warn my sisters and Hurst to have nothing to do with him. I shall not reveal details, it will be enough that they know he has injured you.”

“Of course, that is for the best. The dastard has taken in women of more sense than your sisters before. Not to say your sisters are not intelligent, but he is a plausible devil.”

“And you will tell me if there is anything I can do. If you ever need my help--”

“There is nothing but your promise that you will not have us in company with him.”

“And you have it. Do you wish to go home? I had thought to pay morning calls on Lady Lucas and Mrs Long but I can see you are in no mood for idle pleasantries.”

“No, we will go. I wish to learn what I may. Perhaps someone will know what his intentions are in the neighbourhood, for it was clear he had no idea of encountering me.”

So they went, first to Mrs Long, who greeted them in her front hall, looking harried and harassed. Three of her nieces had come down with bad colds, each catching it from the other, and the fourth, instead of being a good, helpful girl, had instead come down with the toothache and needed to be brought to the toothdrawer. Seeing they were very much in the way, Charles wished her the best and promised a call from his sister in a few days with a basket and the two gentlemen hastily retreated.

They had as little luck at the Lucas'. They found Lady Lucas and Sir William both at home and pleased to see the gentlemen, but when gently prodded about a new arrival in the neighbourhood, instead of learning aught of Wickham, they heard instead of the sudden arrival of the Longbourn heir.

With great relish, Lady Lucas informed them that the man, a Mr Collins, was a clergyman with a respectable living in Kent and that he had arrived at Longbourn at a little before four o'clock yesterday afternoon and that he planned to stay a s'ennight. It was thought that he meant to make some sort of atonement for the iniquitous crime of being the heir and thereby displacing a family of five daughters from the only home they had ever known. Though they had not yet formally met the man, Mrs Long's maid, Lucy, had happened to be passing Longbourn at around that time and had seen a tall, heavy looking gentleman of perhaps five and twenty getting out of a hired carriage.

“It cannot be supposed that he comes with any other intention but to look the place over,” Lady Lucas said with some asperity. “It is very odd in Mr Bennet to be leaving his estate to a second cousin that, from what I can tell, he does not even like. It is very unjust, I think. They will be out on the streets with nary a penny or a recommendation between them.”

Sir William, who though he did not particularly understand Mr Bennet, heartily liked him as he must genuinely like all the people in his self-ascribed kingdom, and could not let this pass. “It is hard, very hard. Those poor girls. But you know, my dear, I believe there is an entailment on the estate so you see it cannot be said to be Mr Bennet's fault. And such pretty, charming girls; there cannot be any question of them being married before any such tragedy as you describe must occur.”

“And them not fit for any position I can think of!” Lady Lucas continued as though her husband had not spoken. “Why, can you imagine our little Lydia going out as governess? I dread to think of what must happen to her, all the slights and abuses she must suffer, and all because Mr Bennet did not do as he aught!”

Darcy, from what he had seen of Lydia Bennet, could sooner imagine her as Covent Garden ware than a governess and could not safely respond. Bingley, however, made a noise of concern and said that he was sure Mr Bennet would do everything he could for his daughters and that they were all sure to make very respectable matches for they were quite the most beautiful and kindest girls he had ever met. As it was quite obvious that he was thinking of Jane when he said this, Darcy could only roll his eyes and Lady Lucas and Sir William both smirked quite knowingly in a way reminiscent of Johnson when he knew something that Darcy did not.

A silence being created by this remark, Lady Lucas soon introduced a new topic, and she and Bingley spoke of Colonel Foster's recent engagement to a baronet's daughter until a polite twenty minutes had passed and the gentlemen were able to excuse themselves.

They called on Mr Harrington and his daughters next, where they found the Misses Harrington running up to the door almost at the same moment that they arrived.

“Oh, Mr Bingley!” Miss Penelope Harrington lisped. “How lovely! We have just been to town, you know, where we met the most handsome man at Miss Watson's!”

“Hush, Pen,” her older sister lisped back. “The gentlemen will not care for such things, you know.”

“But of course we do!” Charles exclaimed gallantly. “For how else am I to know what competition I am to have at the next ball?”

They both giggled and told him how outrageous he was and invited him and Darcy to take tea with them and Aunt Marigold in the morning parlour. This they did, Charles chatting amiably to Mr Harrington's spinster sister while the girls went to change, reappearing only a few minutes before the tea tray arrived.

Seemingly having entirely forgotten about their handsome gentlemen, the two girls chattered gaily for some time about the trim on Maria Lucas' new bonnet and how Charlotte Lucas had chased a fox away from the Lucas' hen house with nothing but a petticoat that had been hanging on the line to dry. They then said how they had met the Longbourn cook who was practically frantic because there was no fish to be got though Mrs Bennet had specifically asked for it owing to the heir having finally come to visit and probably intending to marry one of the Bennets though it was anyone's guess which one.

Bingley, with the skill of a diplomat, said, “The Longbourn heir! How exciting! No doubt he is the handsome fellow who is to cut me out at my own ball.”

The girls exploded into gales of laughter and Aunt Marigold tapped Bingley's knuckles with her fan, telling him he was an outrageous flirt and liable to turn her poor chicks' heads with his flummery.

“No, silly!” Miss Penelope giggled. “That was Mr Wickham, not Mr Collins!”

“Mr Collins is Mr Bennet's cousin and _he_ isn't handsome at all,” said Miss Harrington. “Though he is very tall, he is a clergyman you know and clergymen are only handsome in novels, I think, for they never are in real life.”

“I shall keep that in mind. But you are keeping me in suspense, you know. I have yet to find out who this interloper is so that I may exclude him from all my invitations!”

This brought out another fit of giggling, but finally Miss Harrison collected herself enough to say, “It is Mr Wickham, of course! Did we not say so? He is the most handsome gentleman!”

“And Harriet thought it such a pity that he was not in colours for there is nothing like a red coat, you know.”

“But then we learnt that he is to have a red coat after all! There, is that not lucky?”

“A perfectly satisfactory ending,” Charles agreed. “I will know just where to find him now when I must call him out for cutting me out with all the prettiest girls. Now I shall never have the chance to dance with Aunt Marigold.”

All three of the Harrington ladies burst out laughing at this, Aunt Marigold blushing like a schoolgirl and telling Bingley what a bamboozler he was how he shan't turn her up sweet when everyone knew her poor knees were in no fit state for dancing.

As a reward for the information about Wickham, Charles had no compunction in sacrificing Mrs Long's niece to the lists of neighbourhood gossip, and given this was the first the Misses Harrington were hearing of it, they were completely satisfied and at the end of half an hour the company parted the best of good friends.

As soon as they were out of the house and riding away, Bingley said, “What absolutely ridiculous children they are! I heartily enjoyed myself!”

Darcy, who had been stewing silently the whole morning, let out an inelegant snort. “You are unconscionable.”

“Not at all! They are delightful children with no expectations. Why should I not allow us all some amusement?”

“And what of your Miss Bennet?”

“What of her? Oh, you mean to say I should refrain from speaking to any other female because I have spoken also to Miss Bennet. It is impossible to compare her with anyone else, it is true, but I do not doubt she would understand the notion of a harmless flirtation with a couple of silly girls.”

“You are liable to raise expectations.”

“What a bag of moonshine! No, I shan't listen to you. Instead I shall tell you what does concern me; that I have issued a broad invitation to the ball to all the officers and if Wickham is to be among them I shall have to speak to Colonel Forster. What a blasted nuisance.”

“I shall speak to him. It is my business, not yours. You would not be in this position if it were not for me.”

“Come off the high ropes, you bufflehead. It is my house and my ball, and besides you are liable to make a mull of it.”

“Indeed,” Darcy said in freezing accents.

“Oh, don't take a pet, you know what I mean. If you are the one to make the request it will be all over Hertfordshire in half an hour that he's offended you in some way and the tattlemongers won't rest till they've either solved the thing or made something up that's even worse. But everyone knows my background is smoky enough that vague hints of dastardy won't come as a surprise. And besides, there will be nothing there for them to find out. Also,” he said with a grin, “People like me more. And as I said, it is my house. I will decide who is invited. It will look strange coming from you.”

Darcy was annoyed that Bingley was perfectly correct. He was not used to asking favours of people who were perfectly within their rights to demand his reasoning. He was used to issuing orders and being obeyed and he knew that such an approach would not sit well with the Colonel. He would have to leave it to Bingley, though it galled him to hand over control in such a way.

“You are perfectly right,” he acceded. “And I do not take pets.”

“Naturally not,” Charles said amiably, then suggested a race that left both of them too breathless to speak for long enough that Darcy forgot to press the subject further.


	19. Dix-neuf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! Sorry this is so late. It's possible this might be the only update this week. We've had a humidex of high 30s and low 40s for the last week and a half and it's been difficult to bring myself to even turn on my laptop, never mind putting it on my actual lap. I'll try for more before Sunday but no guarantees :(

The day of the ball was finally set to take place on the following Tuesday. Charles, scarcely less eager than his sisters to revisit with friends from London, asked Caroline to send invitations to however many of them that they could find accommodation for, including Trenton, that selfsame gentleman who had been kind enough to bring Netherfield to his attention.

Caroline, less willing than her brother to expose her London friends to the local society, said she doubted many would be able to come at such short notice but that if he furnished her with a list she would do what she could. Satisfied with this, he scooped up the stack of finished invitations from the table she and Louisa were working at and designated himself as delivery boy.

He spent half the morning putting invitations into his neighbours' hands and doing his part for the nurturing of the neighbourhood gossip vine. Among other things, he learnt that Mrs Long's nieces were doing a little better, except for the poor girl who had had her tooth drawn and was now confined to her bed and dosed with laudanum; that Miss Harrington had tripped in the High Street in Meryton yesterday and had narrowly avoided ruining her gown and bruising her knees by the speedy intervention of a passing officer, and though no one was sure of the officer's identity it did not stop them from speculating on the probable date of the inevitable wedding and the number of children the couple might be expected to have; that there was a new book making the rounds of the local ladies and some of the gentlemen and on whom opinion was split, some considering it much too tame and others swooning over heroes more relatable than were normally found in between the marbled covers of their favourite romances; that Goulding had bought himself a pair of oxen instead of horses for ploughing and that he was having harnesses made instead of yoking them; that Mrs Bennet had ordered new gowns and dancing slippers for all the girls and was later to have been heard to go into hysterics when Miss Lydia confessed to ordering a pattern for drawers; that Mr Robinson had been offered a post on a naval ship sailing to North America for a two year study of the vegetation in the temperate rain forests on the western coast; and that the Dowager Lady Roth planned on attending Mr Bingley's ball with her butler.

Only Robinson's invitation to share a late nuncheon sustained Charles for the rigours of a day spent in such pleasant idleness. He had quite happily forgotten about his promised conversation with Colonel Forster until arriving back home some hours later to find Darcy reading in the uncomfortable parlour off the entry hall with the door left open. He immediately jumped to his feet upon Charles being admitted and hovered in the doorway with nervous anticipation until Charles, finally spotting him, exclaimed at his appearance.

“Good God, man, whatever is amiss? No, don't tell me yet, come into the library, I won't stand about here in this draughty hall and what the deuce you're about sitting in the most unpleasant room in the house is beyond me.”

Saying so, he led the way to the library where as soon as the door was closed behind them, Darcy demanded, “Well then? Were you successful?”

Charles, taken aback by this sudden interest in his activities, looked surprised. “At delivering invitations? I'm not such a nincompoop as all that, my dear fellow.”

Darcy looked stunned. “Invitations? Do you mean to say you have been delivering invitations all morning?”

“Well, I stopped to have nuncheon with Robinson, and of course I was asked to have tea along the way. And I had such a nice coze with Miss Emma, you know. That is, Lady Roth's companion,” he added at Darcy's blank look. “Lord, Darcy, you should hear some of the tales she has about the _ton_. How she knows it all is beyond me seeing as she never leaves the house. I shan't repeat anything she said, but may I just say--”

“No, you may not. Damn and blast, Bingley! Do you mean to say I have been pacing that miserably draughty closet you call a front parlour all day, expecting news of your talk with Colonel Forster, only now to discover you've been out since breakfast gabble grinding with the neighbours?”

Bingley, who's principal intention for the day had been swept from his mind by the time he had accepted his second cup of tea from Miss Emma, looked rather shame-faced. “I hadn't precisely forgotten, you know. Besides, I had thought Caroline would have told you where I'd gone.”

“She had; she informed me that you had gone to deliver invitation cards for the ball, an excuse so patently absurd that I thought it was undoubtedly meant to disguise your intention of seeking out the Colonel for private conversation.”

“Ah. I suppose that was a reasonable assumption.”

“I thank you for crediting me with reasonableness,” Darcy said acidly.

“You needn't rip up at me. I'm sorry you were made anxious but it wasn't done on purpose, you know. I shall go tomorrow, so you needn't wonder any longer.”

“You needn't trouble yourself,” said Darcy stiffly. “I shall go myself.”

Bingley, moving towards the brandy decanter, looked at him askance. He recognised Darcy On His Uppers and knew he would need to tread carefully. “Have you changed your mind then, then?” he asked with careful unconcern. “I thought we had decided it was best for Miss Darcy if you were not connected with the business.”

Darcy, flushing, was silenced.

Taking pity on him and knowing he had played dirty by invoking Miss Darcy's name, Bingley poured him a more than generous measure of brandy.

“What a blasted muddle,” he said, bringing it to him. “I had not thought you might misconstrue my intentions for the day. And I should certainly have gone to see him at once knowing how anxious you were about it, but I thought it best to do it at the same time as I brought the invitation, you know, and Caroline and Louisa had not finished it yet.” This was a stroke of such impromptu genius that Charles felt a moment of pride in his unexpected ability to tell such a bouncer to his sometimes uncomfortably astute friend. “I believe the thing I feel worst about however is that you spent the day in that deuced unpleasant parlour! No wonder you're feeling so blue-devilled. That room is enough to send anybody into a fit of the dismals. I haven't the least idea what the architect was intending with its construction. Perhaps a place to receive the guests whom you don't wish to stay long.”

Darcy, allowing himself to be chivied out of his ill-humour, made an attempt at a smile. “Undoubtedly. That or a bailiff's office.”

“Ah, that makes much more sense. _My_ theory is much more amusing, however. If I should ever have need to build myself a house I should certainly include an uncomfortable parlour for uncomfortable guests and my bailiff will have to make do with much more snug quarters somewhere else.”

Darcy allowed a much more natural smile this time and Charles, recognising that he had gotten over some rough ground rather creditably, refilled both their brandy glasses in a fit of self-congratulation.

*****

The next day was Thursday and was particularly fine, and as Charles had informed his sisters of Mr Jones' dire prediction that there was rain coming by Friday morning, they accepted his offer to call on their neighbours with him in order to extend some invitations as an excuse for a ride.

To protect against any future lapses, he suggested that they all go into Meryton first. Darcy, who still wished to buy a book, came with them, and the party of four set off together on horseback.

Upon reaching the high street the party separated; Darcy and Caroline to Clarke's library, Louisa to the milliner, and Charles—invitation in hand—to knock upon the door of Colonel Forster's rented lodgings.

He was let in by the landlady who directed him to the first floor apartment where Charles found the Colonel quite at his ease before his fire with a London broadsheet in his hand.

“Bingley, my good man,” he greeted with evident pleasure. “How good to see you. Stop by for a snifter? You're in good time, just got home myself. Did Mrs Gladstone say she was bringing tea?”

“She mentioned something of the sort. How are you, Colonel? Darcy will never speak to me again if I don't ask if there's any news from the continent.”

They filled ten minutes in this way until Mrs Gladstone came in with the tray, and after pouring for them left them to themselves. Several minutes were spent on tea cups and slices of seed cake, but when finally they were settled once more, Charles cleared his throat nervously and pulled the invitation from his breast pocket.

“Oh, capital!” the Colonel exclaimed. “I was wondering if you'd decided on a date. Been looking forward to some excitement. The officers are getting restless and a good ball should remind them that they're meant to at least be behaving as gentlemen.”

“Yes, of course. That is, it is indeed a general invitation. The more the merrier, you know. I would not wish anyone to feel unwelcome. It's meant to be a ball, after all! And you cannot have a ball without a great many people, can you? And even if you could it wouldn't be very much like a ball, even if some would prefer it that way. Such odd notions people have, don't you think?”

The Colonel observed this stammering soliloquy with a sapient eye. “Come now, man, cut line and tell me what this is about. Worried they'll cross the line? You needn't be. Most of them are gentlemen born and the ones that aren't know how to get on well enough for a country entertainment. Not expecting the Prince Regent to show up, I presume?”

“No! No, of course not. And you're right, it will be local society and you know I'm not at all high in the instep anyway.”

“Aye, I know that. So will you stop prevaricating and tell me what this is about? Not that I don't enjoy your company but you're making my nose twitch with all this roundaboutation.”

“Forgive me, it's just that it's blasted awkward. You see, you've a new officer—a Mr George Wickham?”

“I have. Is there aught amiss with the man that I should know?”

Charles, caught at this, could not think how to answer. On the one hand, the man had tried to seduce a gently bred school girl out from under her companion's nose, but on the other, Darcy was convinced the man's earlier lapse with his sister was solely about revenge against himself and as such he could not pose any danger to the general population. Miss Darcy was safe at Pemberley and Darcy was more than capable of holding his own against any attacks against his person.

The Colonel, seeing this hesitation began to look alarmed, but Charles quickly reassured him. “No, that is, it isn't a matter of general alarm, you see. That's why this is deuced awkward. There is nothing of his behaviour I am at liberty to make public, but there have passed certain events between the man and one of my household that must make it extremely undesirable that they should meet. And given their position in my household I cannot so dishonour them by having Mr Wickham as a guest in my home. The position would be untenable.”

The Colonel, drawing from this carefully worded explanation the idea that some scandal had passed between Wickham and one of the sisters, nodded his understanding. “Damnably awkward, but easily solved. I shall ensure he's sent to London on the day in question. You needn't worry about having him at your ball. I can't help your—that is any of you from running into the chap in the regular way of things, not without some sort of accusation levelled against the man, but he shall not cross your doorstep, on my honour.”

“It's damned good of you.”

“Not in the least. I'm responsible for the cabbageheads, you know. Come now, a snifter and you can go reassure your household that they are safe, at least inside their own drawing rooms.”

They toasted and drank, and after another few minutes discussing the various points of a horse the Colonel was thinking of buying, Charles took his leave.

He found his sisters outside the linen drapers discussing the merits of a canary yellow silk that hung in the window and Darcy still buried somewhere inside Clarke's Library with the message that he would likely be some time and they were not to wait for him. With admonishments that Charles had certainly taken a great deal of time simply to hand over an invitation card, the trio collected their horses and remounted, and under the stern guidance of his sisters, almost all the rest of the invitations were quickly dispatched to the post or to the immediate neighbourhood with very little in the way of tea or gossip or snifters of brandy to help or hinder their task.

Their last stop was Longbourn House where they were fortunate enough to find all the family at home.

They were shown to the morning room where the ladies were gathered, saving for the two eldest who were swiftly summoned in from the gardens. Greetings were exchanged and the invitation was extended and more than graciously accepted.

Formalities complete, Caroline and Louisa were thereafter singular in their attention to Jane and even more singular in their disregard for everybody else. Charles made some attempt at making up for this, and indeed he showed a very genuine warmth towards Elizabeth especially, a brotherly tolerance towards Lydia's teasing, and amiable interest in everybody else regardless of the inanity of the comments directed towards him. But it was clear that his attention was only half on the rest of the room and that in gaze and thought he was forever being tugged towards Jane to the point where he answered quite nonsensically to some of Mrs Bennet's comments on the brightness of the day.

But the interval did not last long. Within ten minutes Caroline and Louisa were rising to their feet with such sudden activity that Charles was taken by surprise, stumbling to his own feet nearly mid-sentence and taking his leave in a confused rush.

As the siblings mounted and rode away again, it was clear Charles was still somewhere in the morning room behind them, a soft flush on his cheeks and a faint smile on his lips. More than once he glanced back over his shoulder, as though searching for a particular face in a window, until the curve of the drive finally hid the house from view.

It was too much to hope that Caroline and Louisa did not notice this and Caroline, not one to stay silent when she saw her duty to speak, very soon did.

“For Heaven's sake, Charles. You're liable to ride into a tree if you keep staring over your shoulder.”

“Nonsense. Lacey knows who brings her sugar, don't you my girl?”

Lacey, who had strong opinions on the things that counted, whickered agreeably.

“Then you might think of me and Louisa and how foolish you look craning your neck around. Honestly, Charles, you look an absolute fool.”

“You will raise her hopes,” Louisa said more practically. “You are used to the idle flirtations of the _ton,_ but Jane will not understand your gallantry for what it is.”

For a moment Charles did not answer. Then without looking at either of his sisters, he said, “And what would you say if I told you it was not mere gallantry?”

An instant of startled silence greeted this remark. Caroline was the first to speak: “I would say you are joking, or that you have become so interred in country life that you have forgotten that this is not our _milieu._ ”

Charles looked at her with some surprise. “Surely our _milieu_ is anywhere we choose to make it.”

“Do not be more foolish than you are,” Caroline said. “Not even you are so naive. We are constrained by society the same as the Bennets are. What good will it do any of us for you to marry some nobody from the country, who has uncles and aunts inhabiting every solicitors office and merchants warehouse from here to Cheapside. What a waste of our mother's wishes and Mr Darcy's efforts to see us well established. And while you may see nothing so terrible in being buried in the country with a houseful of intolerable in-laws, tell me who shall marry me then? The butcher's boy? Or perhaps you mean me for Uncle Phillip's clerk?”

“Don't be hysterical, Caroline,” Charles said unhelpfully.

Louisa, seeing the expression on her sister's face, hastily intervened. “Indeed, she is right, Charles. Oh, not about the butcher's boy and the clerk, of course. I mean about mother's wishes and all the trouble Mr Darcy has gone through to see us accepted in London. You cannot mean to repay their efforts by throwing yourself away on the likes of Jane Bennet. For certainly she is quite pretty and I see very well the appeal she must hold for you, but after all you have thought many ladies pretty before her and have enjoyed flirtations with any number of them who would have been pleased to accept your suit. Why, you are only three and twenty, Charles! Who is to say that next Season there will not be a young lady even more beautiful and even more kind and good than Jane?”

Charles did not speak, nor did he look at his sisters, choosing to frown instead at his horse's ears. Finally, after several long minutes of silence in which Louisa and Caroline exchanged uncertain glances, something in his mind seemed to clear and he looked up.

“Well,” he said, nudging Lacey into a canter, “We shall just have to see, I suppose.”


	20. Vingt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise in advance to any connoisseurs of the British aristocracy and their ridiculously complicated system of forms of address and courtesy titles. I did my best.
> 
> Also, apologies as well for the very late update. Another chapter coming today as soon as I give it a last read through.

As Mr Jones had promised, there followed a succession of rain that left the entire neighbourhood in a pitiable state. There was no walking into Meryton, no strolls in the shrubbery, no canter down the lanes, no visits with the neighbours. Indeed, there was so little entertainment to be had at Netherfield Hall that even Caroline and Louisa, who had hardly paid morning calls to this point, found themselves suddenly bemoaning their loss. Caroline, who had been looking forward to four days of frantic activity which the arrangement of a ball must necessarily entail, was reduced instead to writing letters and depending on her underlings for the completion of all her carefully wrought plans.

Charles, always happier out of doors than in, was hard put to entertain himself never mind his guests. It was fortunate that Darcy, accustomed as he was to winters stranded in the Derbyshire countryside, was an easy guest to please so long as there were books and a footman to send for the London papers and the mail. Hurst was just as easily pleased: a comfortable sofa in the corner and the occasional hand of cards and a turn of the ivories and he could find contentment wherever he was.

The ladies were in a state of near constant misery. Louisa spent her days in wretched boredom and wondering what all her acquaintance must be doing in London and writing half a dozen letters in half as many days. Caroline spent them fretting that some note or instruction must have gone astray and only the complete ruination of her plans on Tuesday morning would reveal its loss.

The only thing to distract occurred on Saturday when Charles informed his sisters that they were to avoid a man named Mr Wickham at all costs.

Intrigued by the note of high drama with which he infused this statement, they would not let the subject drop, and after several hours of following him from room to room and teasing him about it at every opportunity, he finally relented and allowed them the barest essentials of the tale: that Mr Wickham had been the son of the old Mr Darcy's steward and had committed an act of unparalleled duplicity which had created a permanent rift between himself at the current Mr Darcy. To their shocked demands to know more, he uncharacteristically would not relent, and added sternly that they were not to tease Darcy on the subject either. When they then expressed horror that such a person might appear on their doorstep with the rest of the militia, Charles did not go so far as to disclose his conversation with the Colonel, but he told them that Mr Wickham had been called from the area and would not be back again in time to appear at the ball.

By Monday afternoon, even the most reluctant of the Netherfield residents were anxious for the ball. Indeed, nothing less than a dance on Tuesday could have made such a Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday endurable, and on Monday afternoon, when the constant drum of rain against the window and the sizzle and hiss of the fires as it made its way down the chimneys, might be expected to turn them all mad, the sky suddenly lightened and the sun, though a mere line against the far horizon, was visible again for the first time in days.

On Tuesday morning, the gentlemen found their way to the breakfast room amidst a hive of activity. Extra staff had been hired from Meryton and the surrounding villages and two carriages full of servants had arrived from London that morning, along with three wagonloads of desserts from Gunthers, including one with ice creams and water ices packed carefully round with blocks of ice from Greenland. A frenzy of cleaning and polishing, underway since Friday, was ongoing and Charles, who hadn't thought his house so very big as all that, was amazed at how much dirt could apparently accumulate in the few short weeks since his arrival and with a full staff of maids tidying up every single day.

Caroline was not at breakfast, her agitation of the last few days vanished under the sure knowledge that here was her chance to demonstrate every precept of good taste that had been drummed into her almost from birth. She had never had a chance to be hostess, Louisa having taken precedence in her own house at Grosvenor Square, and before that in their house in Liverpool after their mother had died and before Rudolph Hurst had come along and taken them all to London with him. Caroline was thoroughly enjoying herself, seeing the opportunity to prove herself to the few carefully selected and undemanding friends she had chosen to invite, that she was as equal as any London hostess. Besides that, she was smugly aware that, while Louisa was the elder and more experienced, she had never had the opportunity to flex her wings in such a large and elegant house as this.

Louisa too seemed to be aware of it, alone in the breakfast room when Charles and Darcy entered. She looked decidedly put out and when Charles asked her what was amiss she merely tittered and said how there could be nothing amiss, for Caroline apparently knew everything there was to know. Charles, understanding enough from this remark that he withheld from pursuing it further, contented himself with his ham and his letters.

These were mostly from friends in London or scattered about the country at their own estates, though several were from those who were arriving that afternoon and staying the night, confirming their arrivals for that afternoon. There was a note from the landlord of the George confirming the number of rooms he had set aside for those they were not able to accommodate at Netherfield and informing Charles that all was in readiness for his guests. There was an invitation for a gentleman's house party in December from one of Charles' more outrageous acquaintances and which he toyed with for several titillating minutes before discarding with the knowledge that Darcy would be scandalised. There were two more invitations to more respectable house parties, one of which was mirrored by a similar invitation on Darcy's pile and which Charles thought he rather might accept if Darcy did as well. And at the bottom of the pile, a rather long letter from his man of business which Charles read with some misgiving which he soon found to be justified.

“Damnation,” he said, ignoring Louisa's frown. “My man Davis wants me in town. Some problems with the contract on the maltings I purchased. He says there is some question over the freehold and some bounder is disputing my claim on the place. Says he has a deed for the land it half stands on from some ancient relation who died...this cannot be what I think it says. Sixteen forty-three? Why that's ages ago! This must be some sort of hum.”

Louisa was looking at him queerly. “A maltings? When in Heaven's name did you purchase a maltings, Charles?”

“Why, some weeks ago. Whatever is the matter, Louisa?”

“Well really, Charles, I'm not certain that it is an entirely proper thing to own!”

“Fustian nonsense. Why, many gentlemen have stakes in such places.”

“Stakes, yes. But to outright own something of that sort, why it's practically middle class, Charles!”

“Don't be nonsensical. It's an investment, merely. I shan't be working there myself, you know. I have a man there working the day to day business. William Goulding's younger brother, don't you know. Best I could ask for.”

She looked at him with tight lips. “Do you mean to tell me we are socialising with the brother of your _manager?_ For goodness sake, Charles!”

He looked somewhat abashed by this, but a quick glance at Darcy had him scowling mulishly. “Well after all, Louisa, Darcy's cousin is a secretary.”

“My cousin is a Fitzwilliam and secretary to Lord Bancroft,” Darcy interjected somewhat acidly. “The situations are hardly comparable, Charles.”

Face falling in dismay, Charles could only flush and look down at his plate. “The Gouldings are liked and accepted here,” he said after a moment. “I could do no less than offer his brother such a position, for even if I did not like William Goulding excessively—for I find him a very kind, principled sort of man and we are thrown much in each others way—his brother is just such a man as I like: young, enthusiastic, and sensible. As for socialising with the family, I do not believe I have even met the mother or the youngest siblings. They are not thrusting types, you know, but eminently respectable.”

Louisa's lips remained prim but she said nothing else. Darcy, knowing that Charles had taken the young man to some heart, refrained from scolding him knowing that it would do no good. Charles had seen an opportunity to do something to advantage a friend and do it he would, whether it was entirely proper or not.

The rest of breakfast was completed in silence, Hurst coming down only as the others were finishing. Darcy excused himself to the library, Charles went out for a brisk walk along the lanes to check the state of the roads, and Louisa went to find Caroline to try once more to criticise her younger sister into accepting her help.

At three o'clock, the London guests began to arrive. First among them was Laurence Trenton, wide-eyed and eager to see all the changes wrought on his despised cousin's prospective inheritance.

He was a fashionable young man of some four and twenty years from a respected if not exalted Cornish family. He and Charles shared an easiness of temper, an uncritical worldview, and an essential goodness that had fast made them bosom bows amongst the treacherous shoals of London society. Darcy knew of the young man but did not consider him part of his set. The Trentons of the world were too excitable for Darcy, and one such companion found in Bingley fulfilled his need for a lifetime. That part of him feared the judgment of these otherwise undiscriminating young men, he could not quite admit to himself. So he hung back while Bingley and Trenton heartily embraced and _Charles_ 'd and _Laurence_ 'd one another until Caroline, waiting beside Darcy, cleared her throat with some impatience.

Trenton, immediately perceiving his rudeness, stepped forward and bowed with flawless, well-bred grace. “How unforgivable of me, my dear Miss Bingley! But it is so good to see you all that I was quite overcome. How are you? But I can see for myself that you are well!”

Noticeably thawed by this frank affability, Caroline smiled and offered her hand. “We are tolerable, as you see, Mr Trenton. I trust you had a pleasant journey.”

“The roads were a veritable mire, but we did not founder! How charming this old place looks! You have done marvels, Miss Bingley. The last I saw it the wood was encroaching into the gardens and the drive was more weed than gravel. And Charles tells me you have had the chimneys fixed which is a great relief! I recall being smoked out of my bedroom one very cold night several years ago, but I am certain you would not tolerate such a thing in any house of yours.”

“Indeed, I should hope not! How absurd for us to be standing here on the step, please come into the house Mr Trenton. You know Mr Darcy, of course.”

“Mr Darcy, naturally! How d'you do, sir? What a pleasure it is to see you.”

Darcy, accepting the hand enthusiastically held out to him, could detect no hint in either tone or expression that Trenton spoke anything but the absolute truth, though he had no idea how to account for the sentiment. He only knew the man through Charles and the acquaintance was of the barest kind. That Charles regularly spoke of him to all his friends did not occur to him and indeed, he would have been surprised to know his reputation among this younger sporting set that Bingley regularly inhabited was higher than his own non-involvement among them might have led him to assume.

A footman was dispatched with Trenton to his room in order to freshen up, and as soon as he was gone the sounds of another carriage arriving sounded on the drive and Darcy, his energy quite gone, retreated to the library as the remainder of the house guests began to turn up.

Darcy contrived to remain in the library until after six o'clock when he reluctantly realised he would need to start dressing before Johnson came to fetch him himself. He did not know whom the Bingley's had invited, so it was with some trepidation that he opened the door and peered out into the hall. But the activity of earlier had vanished. The floors were polished, the walls were scrubbed, the chandelier in the entrance hall was gleaming, and the whole place was redolent of flowers where they spilled out of the ballroom like a garden outgrowing its bounds.

The faint sounds of last minute preparation could be heard from that direction, but Darcy went the other way, up the main stairs where Nicholls was directing a pair of footmen in the placement of an enormous urn from whence ivy spilled in a fountain of greenery.

He managed to reach the upper halls without encountering another guest, but his luck ran out as he reached the corridor where the bedchambers were located, and a tall young lady with guinea gold hair emerged from one of the rooms holding a pair of lace mittens.

She started to see him and gave an “oh!” of surprise that was as calculated at the look in her pale blue eyes. “Mr Darcy!” she said, “Imagine finding you here. We have been quite desolate in London without you, you know. I cannot think what might have possessed you to bury yourself in Hertfordshire. If it was a house party you were after you might have come to Little Bury any time and been welcome.”

He bowed, feeling not unlike the fox who wakes up to find the hound digging up his doorstep. “Thank you, my lady. I trust your journey was pleasant. Excuse me,” and he managed to slip past her while she was still formulating a response to this. He ducked into his room with rather more relief than dignity and as soon as the door was closed behind him he threw the lock and cursed.

Johnson, standing in the doorway of the adjoining dressing room, looked at him with some surprise.

“Sir?”

“Did you know of this?” Darcy demanded instantly.

Johnson looked momentarily puzzled, then his brow cleared. “Lady Diana Egerton, sir? I did not. Her brother is an intimate of Mr Bingley's and I believe the invitation was addressed to him. My lady's arrival with the Viscount was quite unexpected and it has forced Miss Bingley to give up her room to Miss Merriville. I believe she is sharing Mrs Hurst's room for the night.”

Darcy cursed again and Johnson, instead of looking shocked, merely nodded.

“Yes, sir. I would recommend sleeping with the door locked tonight. Now if you would, sir, your bath is ready.” He added with a look of reproach: “I have already added several extra cans of hot water.”

Darcy scowled at him but let himself be undressed. As he hurriedly bathed himself, he thought of what Lady Diana's presence here meant. She was the daughter of the Earl of Glossop, a close friend of Darcy's uncle and, he was well aware, the lady his family most often mentioned when in the context of his eventual marriage. This wish, shared by the lady herself, was not, unfortunately, shared by Darcy, who spent most of his time in London avoiding her.

Darcy, well aware of his duty, fully intended to one day in the near future settle down with an appropriate woman of rank and fortune. He knew what he wished for in a wife, from her father's politics to her mother's ancestry, from the books she read to the colour of her hair. His list was comprehensive and complete. He knew what she would look like, sound like, how she would act as hostess and what she would name their children. He knew her favourite songs and her favourite games. He knew what her dowry would be and what settlements he would pay. There was nothing of his future wife that Darcy did not know. She would be quiet, calm, competent, dignified, intelligent, submissive, accepting of her lot but able to further his own ambitions and plans. She would be a paragon of virtue.

But so far, what she did not appear to do, was exist.

All Darcy knew was that Lady Diana Egerton, the wealthy, spoiled beauty of the polite world, was not her, would never be her, and that he would rather be betrothed to a dairy maid than to her.

He did not say this, of course. And of course, he would never betroth himself to a dairy maid, either. But Darcy had plans. Well-laid, perfectly organised plans, and Lady Diana did not fit into them. Her father was a Tory; her mother was the daughter of a mere baron, the result of a disappointing love match that had not lasted beyond the honeymoon. She was haughty and immature, aware of her beauty and the depths of her father's purse. She had a string of admirers longer than the string of horses she went through in a season and besides that carried a small dog around like a muff and that she left lying around just as carelessly as if it had been. Her servants were often the subjects of her bad temper and abuse and during this past Season it was said she had gone through three ladies maids before her father was finally forced to pay a king's ransom to keep the last one from leaving. She read only novels and the most maudlin of poets and the only other interests she possessed that he could tell was spending her father's money and going to parties where she demanded constant attendance from her admirers while she gossiped endlessly with her equally tottyheaded friends.

No, Lady Diana was not for him. He knew she danced gracefully, that her friends considered her loyal so long as they did not challenge her, that she played the pianoforte and the harp with skill and feeling as well as having a passable singing voice. She was reared to be a charming hostess and a thrifty chatelaine and her father had some of the finest acres in the county. But the wife of Darcy she was not, nor would she ever be. Shuddering, he scrubbed at his skin a little harder.

An hour later, bathed, shaved, cravat tied, and collar starched, he left his room with a final sweep of Johnson's brush and made his way to the drawing room.

Only the Bingleys and the Hursts were already there. Caroline and Louisa both gave him an appreciative glance before greeting him, Charles told him his waistcoat was the nattiest he'd ever seen, and Hurst eyed his neckcloth with envy.

“I say, Darcy,” Hurst said. “That's not a Mathematical, is it?”

“Don't be a looby,” his brother-in-law admonished. “It's a _Tr_ _ô_ _ne d'Armour._ Did Johnson tie that for you, Darcy? I've never seen you wear it before.”

Darcy looked offended at this suggestion that he should let anyone tie his neckcloth for him and raised a critical eyebrow at Charles' own knot with its minimal starch and soft, full fall. “A Waterfall, Charles?”

Charles beamed at this instant recognition of his latest effort. “I thought I'd try something new.”

“For Heaven's sake,” said Caroline, “As if it matters.”

Correctly interpreting this comment as pique at being ignored, Charles looked over at his sister and beamed his approval. “What a dashing dress, Caroline! It must be new. You look fine as five pence!”

“Indeed, very elegant,” Darcy agreed.

Caroline looked gratified and the gentlemen turned their attention to Louisa, whose Pomona green silk with lace overskirt her brother pronounced to be “complete to a shade!” Before Louisa could object to this ill-bred remark, the door opened and Nicholls announced Viscount Egerton and Mr Laurence Trenton. Hardly had their hosts welcomed them when Nicholls reappeared with Miss Merriville and Miss Charis Merriville, and directly on their heels the Honourable Daniel Chawley. The guests from the George began to arrive and soon the drawing room was a pleasant hum of conversation and clinking glasses as Bingley and Darcy poured drinks and Caroline and Louisa welcomed guests.

Finally, only Lady Diana was missing, and just as Nicholls was starting to look anxious for the roast pheasants did she appear, draped in a blue satin slip the colour of her eyes and silver embroidered gauze. She wore a large sapphire at her throat and in her ears and a silver sapphire-studded headdress was woven into her golden hair. Only the fact that she was in her third Season raised her above the epithet of vulgar, but even so there was a moment of shocked silence at her appearance. Charles was the first to break it, stepping forward and saying, “By Jove! You look like a constellation of stars! The goddess Diana!” And the rest of the party, admitting that, while not quite the thing for such a young girl, she did indeed look well and it was a pleasant change to see a girl in something other than insipid pastels and pearls. Only Caroline, in peach gown and pearls, was furious.

Dinner was an elaborate affair and Darcy was as impressed as he knew he was meant to be. Caroline, seated at the head of the table, was at her most charming and witty and Charles carved up the meat as though he had been doing it all his life.

Darcy, seated near the middle of the table with that beautiful widgeon Miss Charis Merriville on one side and The Honourable Gussie Stanhope—the hoyden daughter of Lord Wakefield—on the other, felt himself to be fortunately placed, for the former, when she was not placidly eating, did not expect anything but the most common of pleasantries to be exchanged, and the latter did all the talking without expecting a single answer at all. Even more fortunately, Lady Diana was seated almost as far from Darcy as was possible in his present position: on the other side of the table beside Charles.

After dinner, the gentlemen did not linger long, joining the ladies in the drawing room as the first guests from the neighbourhood began to arrive. Darcy, passing through the hall with Lord Wakefield at his side while that gentleman espoused the virtues of a stallion he had just won from Lord Manning, heard the knocker on the door like the knells of doom on the last day of the world. Nicholls and his army of footmen stepped forward and Darcy sighed. It had begun.


	21. Vingt et un

The Bingleys' first ball was a success.

It could not be termed a Hopeless Crush, the greatest honour to be bestowed on a London ball during the Season, but the rooms at Netherfield were more than respectably filled, with upwards of one hundred people in attendance and more than thirty couples standing up to dance.

The orchestra and the desserts were from London, and the supper and most of the guests were from Hertfordshire. But the scattered lights of London society, though outnumbered by the neighbourhood guests and the militia, were gawked at and admired enough for even those luminaries to feel as though their evening was not being wasted. And while some of the guests might rightly be numbered among the mushroom class, they were in the minority and in any event, much to be expected at a country ball where the neighbourhood had been invited.

The ballroom was a garden bower, and the smell of a thousand tapers and a hundred sweating bodies was overpowered by blooms from the forcing houses of Pulvis Lodge and Ashworth. Even so, the brightly coloured blossoms fought for attention beside the guests, swirling by in brightly coloured silks and satins, gauze and net, the pristine white of the gentlemen's neckcloths gleaming almost as brightly as the gems and jewels at the ladies' throats and scattered like drops of dew in their hair.

Darcy who—given the tone of sad informality that seemed to infuse all the neighbourhood gatherings—had been expecting something closer to a romp, could almost imagine himself back in civilisation, and as the rooms began to fill with chatter and the rustle of ball gowns and the bright tinkle of champagne flutes, he could not help but congratulate Caroline, standing nearby in the receiving line. She sent him such a smile of glittering triumph that he knew his praise had been unnecessary. She had succeeded and she knew it.

He watched the procession of neighbours, filtering their way past Caroline and Charles in the receiving line and slowly diffusing amongst the rooms. He watched the wondering expressions as gazes took in flower filled rooms and new furnishings of the highest elegance, the approval in the eyes of matrons who could remember the house before it had been shut up by the family, and the giggling speculation of the younger girls as they tried to gauge their chances at one day becoming its mistress. Standing a little back to observe all this, Darcy had not understood his own motivation for doing so until the Bennets arrived and he realised, all at once that he had been waiting for her.

He did not see her parents or her sisters. He did not hear Mrs Bennet's effusive greetings or notice that Miss Jane Bennet, always beautiful, was made resplendent in a white gown of such elegant simplicity it could only have been made by a London modiste. He did not notice Miss Lydia and Miss Catherine squealing in excitement at the first sign of a red coat or Miss Mary Bennet clutching at a stack of music books as though at a lifeline. He failed even to notice Mr Bennet, looking oddly dignified in knee breeches and tail coat but with that same smirk at the corner of his mouth and the light of laughter in his eyes, ready to be amused by anything and everything.

No, Darcy saw only Elizabeth, and he thought his heart might stop at her loveliness.

She was not the most elegant, nor the tallest, nor the prettiest. She was of average height, of average prettiness, wearing the same white dress as every other young lady present. But that laughing light so arguably objectionable in her father's eye was impossible to despise in hers, and the smirk at the corner of her mouth stood ready to emerge as laughter. She did not wear jewels, save the same cross at her neck she always wore, and in her dark hair were woven white silk flowers instead of jewels and he ached to be the one to present a string of diamonds to her, his own fingers the ones to twist them into her hair until she shone. As she turned her head he found his eye caught by the uneven pattern the silk flowers made through her curls and he hardly realised he was tracing their path, memorising every imperfection as though it were some small miracle wrought by an impatient angel until someone stepped between them, blocking her from view, and his only thought was to get her back into his line of sight and keep her there forever. He wondered frantically how this could be managed until someone touched his arm and sanity and consciousness returned and he looked up as though waking from a sleep to find Mr Robinson at his elbow.

Something in Darcy's face made him step back, uncertain, and he said, “Forgive me. I did not mean to disturb you.”

Darcy did not know what he looked like, but he made some effort to twist his features into something resembling his usual complaisance. By the way Robinson seemed to become even more alarmed he was doubtful of the result. Seeking distraction, he turned his face away, as if searching for someone amongst the crowd, but Robinson, after a moment of silence, recalled his attention. A soft touch on his elbow and Darcy forced himself to look back.

“My apologies, Mr Robinson. You find me quite distracted,” he managed to say. “I am, alas, never at my best when in society.”

“I am sure your friends must disagree, Mr Darcy,” Robinson said kindly. “I had only meant to greet you, so I shall not keep you. I see faces that are unfamiliar to me but one cannot mistake the fashions: you have friends here from London, I think.”

“Acquaintances merely. I believe Bingley and his sister chose their more intimate friends for this visit.”

“Ah, by way of an experiment then,” Robinson said with a wry grin. “I wonder, was it themselves they were unsure of, or us?”

Darcy, unsure how to answer this too penetrating questioning, merely looked cold.

Robinson's grin only widened. “We are not the most elegant of neighbourhoods, I know, but we are able to behave ourselves when the occasion warrants. And as for your friends, they have nothing to fear. Bingley told me that he and Miss Bingley have been nervous of their first entertainment, but I cannot imagine their guests will find anything to be dissatisfied with. Everything is lovely.” And with a twinkle of mischief, “Especially the flowers. Though I wish I could take credit for those bougainvilleas. Alas, those are Harry Harrington's efforts and none of my doing.”

Darcy, politely directing his gaze to the gaudy pink blooms, could think of nothing to say except, “Very pretty,” as at that moment, in observing Robinson's vines, he caught sight of a dark head with white silk flowers and all other thoughts fled from his mind.

He turned to excuse himself to his companion, only to find that gentleman's eyes fixed just as avidly as his own on the vision of Miss Elizabeth. Darcy, feeling a rush of jealous possession, said abruptly, “I had heard you are going out of the country for several years. You are leaving soon, I suppose?”

Robinson, his gaze diverted, looked at Darcy in some surprise. “I have an offer, yes, but I have not accepted yet.”

“But you mean to, of course.”

Robinson's gaze flickered to Elizabeth. “My plans are not yet certain.”

Darcy, feeling his heart lurch in alarm, said somewhat harshly, “You would be a fool to overlook such an opportunity.”

“Yes,” Robinson agreed, once more looking to where Elizabeth stood. “I would be.” And with that he bowed and excused himself and Darcy was left feeling angry and unsure whether he and Robinson had been speaking of the same thing.

This exchange, though leaving him dissatisfied, had at least the advantage of bringing Darcy back to his surroundings. With some determination, he turned his back on the part of the room where Miss Elizabeth stood and made his way in the opposite direction. This brought him to the refreshments, where he took a lobster pattie and a glass of punch before moving back into the room to circulate.

He nodded to several acquaintances from the neighbourhood, including Mr Harrington and Sir William, and bowed to several ladies he knew from London, including the cool Miss Merriville and the youthful Mrs Standen. He assiduously avoided being accosted by anyone, not wishing to dance and still feeling as though the ground had not quite righted itself beneath his feet, until he found himself at the door of the parlour that had been set aside for cards. Thinking he was not yet fit for aught else, he entered.

It was sparsely populated as yet, the evening only begun and the dancing not yet commenced, but he spotted two red coats seated at a table together and recognised Major Hugh Pratt and Captain Benjamin Carter. Darcy went to them, on the way greeting Lord Wakefield who was smoking a cigarillo by the fire with a book.

They did not see him at first, intent upon their conversation, but they looked up as he stopped by their table, and the ready smiles on their faces as they turned towards to him seemed to stiffen and freeze as they each registered who it was.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Darcy said.

There was an awkward pause and Darcy had the strangest sensation that it had been him they had been speaking of when he had approached. But it was nonsensical. He knew he must be imagining it.

Even so, it was a moment before either man spoke. Captain Carter finally did, his face unaccountably grave as he inquired politely after Darcy's health.

“Well, thank you,” Darcy replied. “And your own?”

“Well enough,” Carter said and then, his gaze not quite meeting Darcy's, said somewhat nervously, “I say, Darcy. Do you know this new fellow, George Wickham, at all? Seems he was a friend of yours once, to hear him tell it.”

“Your father's godson, in fact,” Pratt put in, raising his gaze to meet Darcy's with something like a challenge.

Darcy stiffened, his face drawing closed. What were these two coxcombs thinking? That he would bandy his father's name about? Allow his own name to be fodder for the camp gossipmongers? He wished Charles were here, for Charles would know how to turn the conversation without any offence being given. But he wasn't here, likely opening the ball judging by the first strains of the orchestra he could now hear, faintly drifting in from the ballroom. Darcy had no skill in these matters. He could not think what to say so in the end he said nothing, simply raising a haughty and eloquent eyebrow and glaring until both men looked away.

He felt triumph when they did, but did not think it wise to leave things as they were. If he left now, who knew what they would say? No, better to show he was unaffected, that the subject held no importance to him. “It has not been good weather for shooting,” he said. “But as soon as the ground dries a little we should get up a party.”

A silence greeted this. Captain Carter, his eyes now fixed on his cards, said nothing. Pratt, after a moment long enough to turn awkward, said, “I'm afraid our duties keep us quite occupied.”

Darcy, who was well aware that their duties had not been of any great concern a mere week ago, could only stare at them.

Something was amiss. Had he offended them? He must have done, but in what way he could not fathom. It could not be Wickham, for whatever lies the bounder could have told them, he was a relative stranger to these men, a newcomer to the neighbourhood with neither character nor honesty to recommend him. While he, Darcy, was not only known but was an honoured guest and intimate acquaintance of their host.

He almost demanded to know what lies George Wickham had told them but neither pride nor breeding would allow it. Instead, he bowed coldly and without another word turned and left the room.

It was impossible to be sanguine after this. With a cold and careful eye on the other guests, he soon realised he had not been imagining the coolness from Carter and Pratt. The greetings he received from the general neighbourhood had not altered, a mix of obsequience and timidity that was no different from what he normally received. But from the officers there was a new aloofness that did not make sense inside of his previous experience with them. Chamberlayne especially, whom he had left on the very best of terms after the day of shooting, disturbed him, and he found as he circled the ballroom that he felt the loss of what might have developed into a genuine friendship with some regret.

But this thought, hardly born, was in the next instant cast off. As he watched Denny, with an ill-concealed glance in his direction, hastily change his own direction to avoid him, he felt his anger once more rise. What had he said or done to make these men think so ill of him? To take the word of a stranger, a complete unknown to the area, against his own demonstration of character and honour, his very name of Darcy? It was as inconceivable as it was unforgivable and watching Denny turn away from him he found he could not forgive it. He had no wish to. Turning his own back, he made his way blindly across the room and found where the balcony doors led out onto the terrace, and needing nothing more than a moment of peace, to be away from these people with their mistrust and their lies, he opened the door and slipped out.

The cold and the dark were equal reliefs. He could still hear the music, a faint strain in the quiet night, but he moved as far from the doors as possible, finding the deepest shadows he could and hoping to go unnoticed. He considered going down into the gardens and walking around the house to slip unseen into the library and thus to his own chambers, but he would not be so cowardly. He would not give them the satisfaction of running away.

He very nearly reconsidered however when the terrace doors opened, and with the music spilling out into the night, a woman also stepped.

For an instant, his distracted mind thought it was Elizabeth. Against the light of the ballroom, a mere silhouette, he could see nothing but the pale glimmer of a white gown. But then he saw the glitter of sapphires and as the figure moved away from the light he saw the golden hair and the slim figure and a moment later the figure spoke.

“I saw you come out here, Mr Darcy. Which shadow are you hiding in, sir?”

He held his breath. Perhaps he might hide. If he didn't speak, didn't move, she might think she was mistaken, or that he had indeed gone into the garden. But she was moving towards him and any moment now her eyes would adjust and she would see the ghostly white of his knee breeches and stockings and he would look an even bigger fool than he felt, hiding in the dark from a woman.

So he stepped forward, bowing slightly, and felt a churlish pleasure at seeing her jump in surprise.

“Lady Diana. You do not dance?”

She smirked at him. “Is that an invitation, Mr Darcy?”

He cursed himself silently, but then realised it for the deliverance it was. The last thing he wanted was to be alone in the dark with this woman. “Naturally. Shall we go in now?”

“Oh, no! For I much prefer it out here. I know Charles Bingley is a friend of yours but my goodness! Some of his friends are just too, too _outr_ _é_ . Isn't it just like him to make friends with the _entire_ neighbourhood?” She laughed, a sound as clear and brittle as crystal.

Darcy, who five minutes ago might have agreed with this sentiment, now found himself bridling. “Bingley is the most gentlemanly man I know. If he sees worth in someone, I generally assume that my inability to see that worth is my own fault and that of the two of us his is the clearer vision.”

“How very proper of you to say so!” she said mockingly. “Though you must be careful, Mr Darcy, for you almost sound as if you believe it.”

He felt himself stiffen but could think of nothing to say. Her smile widened.

She moved closer and he noticed for the first time her bare arms and her thin dress. She must be freezing but she gave no sign of it, slinking towards him in the manner of a cat spotting its prey: slowly and smoothly, so as not to startle. He found himself instinctively stepping back.

“My brother is almost as completely loyal as you are, you know. It's very admirable. Loyalty. Honour. You men have such quaint notions of chivalry, of nobility, of--”

Several things happened at once.

Lady Diana, having gotten within arms distance of Darcy, suddenly stumbled. Her mouth opened in an “O” of surprise and her arms reached out. And as she fell forwards, Darcy stepped sideways, and kept stepping, all the way to the stairs and down into the garden. And just as he reached the bottom he heard the music swell as the terrace doors opened and Lord Egerton's familiar voice call out, “Diana? Where are you, you silly chit? What in blazes did you want me to meet you out here for when you're meant to be opening the ball with Bingley? Good lord, what happened to you? Did you fall? That's what you get for stumbling about in the dark like a looby. Come on, let's get you fixed up, old girl.”

Darcy didn't try to run. Instead, he found the deepest shadow he could and waited, and only when he heard the doors shut and he had patiently counted ten minutes under his breath did he move again, calmly walking back up the steps and onto the terrace and thus into the ballroom, where, thank the Lord, no one noticed him at all.


	22. Vingt-deux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this week kicked my ass. Sorry everyone. This chapter was meant to be longer, encompassing The Dance, but I have been brought to remember that Writing Is Hard when you have a job. Not to say that I'm not delighted to have jobs again but y'know...they do so get in the way! I was going to hold off posting this till I could finish it, but I thought you guys would hate me more if I didn't post ANYTHING so here is a truncated chapter! Sorry!! Also, just to be even more awful, we have a long weekend coming up next weekend so this week up until next Monday is going to be a bit crazy. (I'm trying to remind myself that I actually LIKE my job.) I'm definitely I promise I swear going to get you guys at least one chapter this week, but starting next week I should be able to go back to two chapters a week.
> 
> (I would also like to note I'm posting this at 11:43pm on Sunday night so I mean still sort of this week right? Right??)

It was not long upon his return to the ballroom that Bingley accosted him. The first set had ended and there was the usual milling about as gentlemen sought their partners and cups of punch were fetched before the second set was called.

He discovered Darcy prowling along the edges of the room with a forbidding look on his face and Charles, in alt after having successfully put down his name on Jane's dance card for two sets including the supper dance, was unable to do anything but grin at the scowl with which he was greeted.

“I must say, this was a deuced good idea this ball,” Charles said. “Do you know, I believe everybody must have accepted. Even Lady Roth and Miss Emma came for a half hour and they never accept invitations, you know. I admit I was disappointed that Lady Roth did not bring her butler to the ball but perhaps next time.”

Darcy frowned at him. “I know you jest, Charles, but for Heaven's sake will you watch your tongue where anyone might hear you.”

“Jest? Not I, I assure you! Just think of the excitement! And besides, I think it rather sweet, do not you?”

“I do not,” Darcy said unequivocally and without a hint of the humour lurking in Bingley's eye. “Did you come here just to shock me or have you any purpose other than my discomposure?”

“How very cross you are! What has happened? For I would swear you were not so gloomy at dinner.”

Darcy, unwilling to unburden himself in the middle of a ballroom, merely shook his head. With some effort, he lightened his expression. “Nothing has happened, only I do not like balls.”

“What a strange creature you are. I shall never understand you. But come, you have promised to dance with at least two ladies who are neither Caroline nor Louisa. I even invited the Merrivilles for you for I know how much you like Miss Frederica. And you needn't even be alarmed that she might harbour expectations, for you know she is very happily engaged to Lord Alverstoke and, from what everybody is saying, Miss Charis and that mooncalf Dauntry are practically betrothed as well. There! Have I not solved the thing? Now all you must do is ask them.”

“I do not see why I should,” Darcy said, even to his own ears sounding like a toddler told to take a bath. But he could hardly help himself. The instant that Charles, on Monday morning, had cornered him in the library with the strict instruction that he was to dance with at least two other ladies aside from his sisters, or else he could simply take himself off to bed instead, the image of Elizabeth Bennet had leapt instantly to his mind. And in that instant he had imagined the entire evening without the least meaning to: bowing to her, her blushing curtsy back; asking for her hand and the quizzing, clever response she was bound to give; the dances themselves, all of them, not just the one which would be proper, or the two which would have the whole county talking for a twelve month, they would dance with each other from the opening of the first song to the dwindling of the last. They would even waltz, the scandalous waltz of the vulgars with their hands about one another's waists and their eyes intent upon each other. There would be no looking away except when she would flush and glance shyly down, overwhelmed and overheated by their shared gaze. They would create a scandal and he would not even notice.

Except...except he would. The whole scenario was a fever dream, sheer madness that he could offer no excuse for and yet that he could not dislodge from the spiralling glimmers of what-ifs that had circled and touched down in his restless mind all day and for the entirety of the following night, taking off again at the first light of dawn. But with daylight, the world and everyone who lived within it intruded themselves onto his memory and into the glittering dance floors and darkened bedrooms of his frenzied mind. So he had promised Charles, recklessly and desperately, with the unspoken vow that he would neither think of nor look at Miss Elizabeth Bennet for the whole of the night. And as the guests had begun to arrive from London, knowing, in the inflexible light of a new day, that he could easily find partners that would not cause the talk that taking Elizabeth onto the floor for even a single dance would cause, he had finally shaken the idea from his delirious brain.

But now, standing at the edge of the dance floor with a hundred other people crowded around him, he quailed and wondered if he had been mad to give his promise to Charles. He knew that in the back of his mind, even as he had given it, he had hoped Charles would forget, but he might have known better: Charles never forgot promises. So now, instead, he frowned heavily, hoping that he might change Charles' mind through sheer force of will, but it was no use: Charles was hardly looking at him, his eyes scanning the ballroom with undisguised pride.

And thus, Charles, utterly unaware of the agonies of his friend's mind, responded only as one might have excepted: “Because it is a ball, you nodcock. And you promised.”

Down but not defeated, Darcy said, “I do not believe that extracting a promise on the fourth day of continual rainfall is entirely honourable.”

Charles was unmoved. “Well it's too late to complain about it now. Choose your lady, my friend. I shall happily choose her for you otherwise. Lady Diana disappeared for the first dance, making me look no account, let me tell you. I know what I shall do; I shall pair her with you for the waltz thereby allowing you to be each other's punishment.”

“I never realised before what a cold-hearted dastard you were, Charles.”

“And I never knew how cow-hearted _you_ were, Darcy!”

“Oh very well. But I shall choose my own ladies, and no, it shall not be Lady Diana.”

“I did not think it would be. What a damned nuisance she is, inviting herself along!”

“You might have known. That sapskull of a brother of hers has never been able to withstand her, you know. He was just such a craven-heart at school.”

“Then you two must have a great deal to talk about together,” Charles said, and making that his parting shot, quickly departed to lead Lady Diana into the next set.

As the two heads, one guinea gold and one bouncing brown curls, vanished into the heaving masses, Darcy was thinking it might behoove him to find Miss Frederica Merriville before her dance card was filled, when Egerton himself, summoned by some evil genius, sidled nervously up to him and gave him an anxious greeting.

“What ho, old chap,” he said with anxious joviality. “Smashing do, what? I say, is that a  _Tr_ _ô_ _ne d'Armour?_ Never seen you wear one before. Did Johnson tie that?”

Darcy, feeling as though this was quite enough, made recourse to his rarely used quizzing glass. It was an affectation he abhorred, but he used it now and Egerton, already nervous, flushed vividly and stammered an apology.

“'Course not, 'course not. Jinglebrained thing to say. Don't know what came over me. Absolutely tottyheaded you know. Always have been. Have to excuse me, old man, can't help it, you know.”

Darcy, lowering the offending glass, merely made a sound that could have been taken for agreement.

“Thing is, just thought I'd ask, you know? Sure it's nonsense. The gel's always had an odd kick to her gallop. I mean to say, three Seasons! She turned down half a dozen offers in her first Season and it's my belief they found out what a plaguey chit she is for the pater hasn't had a single request for her hand for months now.”

“As edifying as this conversation is, perhaps you might enlighten me as to its purpose.”

“Eh? Oh, my purpose. Righty ho. Well, you see old chap, it's rather like this. The old girl seems to think you compromised her. Thing is, saw her myself on the terrace. Didn't see you, of course, which you can be sure I told the silly thing, but pretty certain she was, for all that. Now  _I_ don't believe it. Old Ditchwater Darcy, after all. Last person in the world to compromise a lady, least of all a shrew like Diana. I mean to say, m' sister and all, but wouldn't wish the chit on my worst enemy.”

Darcy, who had until now been unaware of this less than flattering sobriquet for himself, gave no sign of having noted it apart from a thinning of his lips.

The Marquis of Woodacott's eldest son and hopeful heir failed to notice this sign of danger, however. “Thing is, had to ask,” he went on. “Can't go around letting m' sister's honour be impugned and what not. Doesn't look right, doesn't look right at all. Next thing I'll have to fight a duel and lud knows where I'm to get a pair of Mantons at this time of night, never bring the things with me. I mean to say, who would? Not expecting to fight duels at country balls, y'know. And there's no use suggesting swords for I'm hopeless at 'em. Haven't touched one of the blasted things since school. No need to, is there? Silly sort of thing, bashing bits of metal together till one of you is cut to ribbons and the other one has to flee the country. Never heard of anything so corkbrained in my life. So what I mean to say is, one has to ask, you see.”

Darcy, following these meanderings with admirable calm, said: “Yes.”

Egerton looked startled at this. “Eh? What's that, old man? Do you mean to say you  _did--_ ”

“No,” Darcy said crushingly. “I understand that you must ask. And before you do in fact ask, no, I did  _not_ compromise Lady Diana. Now you may go back to her and assure her of having done your duty.”

Egerton paled at this. “I say! I mean that is to say--don't suppose you would tell her, would you?”

“No,” Darcy bit out.

“I don't suppose you'd like to marry her anyway? Almost the same thing after all and then I don't need to tell her--”

“By all that's holy, you blithering--!”

“Mr Darcy, Lord Egerton.”

Darcy swallowed his words and turned to greet Caroline, who was throwing him a look that promised retribution if he ruined her ball with a vulgar display of temper. “I was looking for you both. There are some young ladies that I would very much like to introduce you to.”

Viscount Egerton, who for all his faults, was popular amongst hostesses as an elegant dancer and a willing and unthreatening escort to the shyest and dowdiest of young ladies, allowed himself to be led off. Darcy excused himself, however, earning him a further glare until he informed her that he had been on the point of going to find Miss Merriville for the next set, and Caroline, reminding herself that this charming lady was already betrothed and to a Marquis no less, allowed him a gracious smile before leading the viscount off.

Darcy, matching word to deed, gathered the last shreds of his fraying temper and went to find Miss Merriville.

He did not find her. Or rather, he found her already dancing with Mr Chawley, another of Bingley's houseguests. He stood watching them for several minutes, wondering how best to position himself in order to intercept her upon her departure from the dance floor, when a sigh sounded at his elbow and he looked down to find Gussie Stanhope standing there, round blue eyes rapt on Miss Merriville.

“Isn't she lovely?” she said.

Unsurprised to be thus accosted by a young lady who's reputation as fast and ruinously bold had often excluded her from the most select circles, Darcy only answered, “She is considered to be a handsome woman.”

She gave him a scornful look. “Handsome!” she scoffed. “I know Charis is supposed to be the more beautiful sister, and indeed, it would be nonsensical to say she isn't quite the most lovely thing one has ever seen. But it is strange, is it not, finding that one who you thought to be only passably good looking, with perhaps some charm but of no particular note, and then getting to know them and finding that they are just, oh! Everything! I think Frederica is like that. Whereas dear Charis, while she is not  _less_ beautiful, I find that it doesn't matter so much anymore, if you know what I mean. That is not to say she is not very kind and good and has a deal of common sense, for she has, but somehow once you know her you realise that her lovely face is the most extraordinary thing about her, but with Frederica, you only notice her looks because of all the other things about her, and then once you have noticed them, you wonder how you never noticed them before.”

For a moment Darcy could not think what to answer to this, but it did not matter: in another instant Miss Stanhope was speaking again, this time on the spectacle Laurence Trenton was making, bouncing through a pousette like one of her father's untrained pups.

Darcy, making the appropriate noises, allowed her to carry on for some ten minutes in this manner, and he was just wondering how best to extract himself when his ear caught the sound of a familiar laugh and in an instant all his determination to avoid Miss Elizabeth Bennet for the whole of the ball was gone. Eager eyes sought her out and it took hardly a moment for him to find her, buried though she was in a group of dancers nearly at the other end of the room from him. He stared and did not notice when Miss Stanhope, seeing a friend of hers, left him as abruptly as she had joined him. He saw only dark curls, silk flowers, and laughing eyes. It took him several moments more to notice that the partner with which she danced and laughed was wearing a red coat.

His injury by the gentlemen of the militia was too fresh and he felt his sense of outrage rise up when he further noted that the red coat in question was covering the shoulders of Major Pratt, who himself was laughing, looking charmed and charming. Indignation could not be suppressed. It was all of a piece with this thrice-damned night. With a scowl that sent at least two maidens scattering from his path, he turned his back on the dancers and went resolutely from the room.

He found himself back in the library almost without knowing how he had arrived there, but the room was cold and dark, the grate unlit as the room was not open to the public that evening and it was not to be expected that anyone would be in it. Groping in the dim light from the corridor he saw the limned edge of a book on a table and hardly caring what it was he picked it up and took it with him, determined that he would take it to his room and spend the night in better company than he found downstairs. But even that was to be denied him, for a single glance at the title made him realise he had picked up the novel that Elizabeth had been reading on that final day of her stay at Netherfield when he had discussed Homer with her in his mind. He nearly sobbed aloud from sheer frustration, but after coming to a sudden stop in the deserted hallway and standing for several seconds with his eyes tightly closed and his breathing carefully regulated, he found instead that the sound trying to escape from his throat was laughter.

With a gasp, he released it, and even to his own ears he could hear the delirious edge to it, but it cleansed something in him so that he was able to put the novel down on a table instead of hurling it at a window, and after several minutes, when he was once more calm, he straightened his coat and gave his cravat a careful twitch and turned back to where the sound of music and a hundred people talking all at once penetrated the very floor. He knew what he must do, of course, and he saw now that it was useless to deny it to himself: he must dance with Elizabeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you unfamiliar with the phrase, "dull as ditchwater" (also "dishwater" sometimes) is a Britishism meaning "really fucking boring." Sorry Darcy, I promise I'll make it up to you!


	23. Vingt-trois

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has barely had a read-through and Darcy is still a confusing muddle in my head during this scene but here you go: A Chapter.

It was unfortunate for Darcy that upon his return to the ballroom, the second set was not yet half over. As it was, he was forced to pace the edge of the dance floor for yet half an hour, his eye fixed on Elizabeth in anxious design, every moment his resolve growing weaker and his certainty in his own decision becoming momentarily more and more _un_ certain.

He was aware of being looked at, of two or three people moving towards him for some speech, but he cut them off by simply pretending not to have seen them and hurrying off to another part of the room as if on some great errand.

After he had done this some three or four times, he began to feel ridiculous and took himself back onto the terrace where he could still hear the faint strains of the music but where it was too chilly to attract much in the way of a crowd. Only one other gentleman was there before him, standing in a far shadow, the faint scent of tobacco smoke reaching his nose and making Darcy wish not for the first time that it was a habit he indulged, as it would have furnished him with a convenient excuse at any number of parties.

As it was, the scent made him frown slightly, reminding him of how he had never quite succeeded in removing the stench from the library at home, even five years after his father—a prolific smoker of all forms of tobacco—had died. After several successive summers in which Darcy had scarcely allowed the windows to be closed in an effort to rid the room of the smell, he had finally thought he had done the thing only to open a book and have the scent waft up, the olfactory ghost of a memory he was trying hard to put behind him. He tried to imagine now what his father's reaction would be to his son choosing to dance with a country nobody and he couldn't. The idea seemed too far outside the realms of what George Darcy would have considered possible to even come up with a probable response.

Looking about for a likely shadow to hide in, he did not immediately notice that the smoker had turned to greet him until his name was called.

“Darcy,” said Robinson, coming towards him as if in no question of his welcome. “I see we are of like mind.”

Darcy, curling his lip slightly, said with repressive disapproval: “I do not smoke.”

Looking startled, Robinson glanced down at the glowing end of the cigar in his hand as if surprised to see it there. “Do you not? Nor do I in the ordinary way of things. My father indulged, however, and in times of great stress it comforts me to do what he did: stand on the terrace with a cigar and avoid my problems.” He gave a laugh, light and engaging, and without asking Darcy knew the memory invoked was not an unpleasant one and he felt a stab of envy.

“I am sorry,” Darcy said, unsure for what he was apologising. And then: “My father was also a prodigious smoker. The doctors thought it was what killed him.”

_Now where did that come from?_ With some force, Darcy clipped his mouth shut, appalled at his own indiscretion to a man he did not know or even particularly like. What was the matter with him? From the age of thirteen to twenty-seven he had never said an intemperate or careless word, and five weeks in the wilds of Hertfordshire and he had suddenly lost all restraint. He was grateful that the light from the ballroom was behind him, casting his expression in shadow even as it lit Robinson up so that the flicker of sympathy that crossed his face was plainly visible.

“I am sorry,” Robinson said. “Has it been very long?” And after several moments, receiving no reply, he tossed his cigar onto the terrace and with great concentration in stamping it out he said: “My father has been gone these two years. My goodness, has it been so long?” He gave a soft laugh. “I would swear that when I arrive home tonight he will thrust his head from the orangery and demand that I come in immediately to see that his latest orchid has finally rooted. And yet at the same time, I know I will go home and the house will be empty and somehow it will seem as though it has always been so, as if I had only dreamt him. You know, I do not know if I can go to America. What will happen to my father's ghost, then? Perhaps he will finally move on and then what should I do? But perhaps,” he said, looking up again and smiling, “You shall tell me that there is no such thing as ghosts.”

Darcy, almost against his will, found himself smiling back. “Perhaps I should,” he said, and after several long seconds he said: “It has been five years. I still smell his blasted cigars every time I open one of his books.”

There was a silence, both men momentarily lost in their memories. Robinson broke it finally by saying, “Soda ash.”

“Pardon?” Darcy said, startled.

“Or cedar. In a fumigation chamber, of course.” And when Darcy said nothing, Robinson smiled slowly and clarified: “Books. How to remove the smell.”

Darcy, feeling as though he had wandered off a road somewhere and found himself in the middle of forest, found himself suddenly laughing. Robinson, watching him with a quizzical smile, said somewhat peculiarly, “You know, when you have decided that you wish to wed, you need only laugh like that and she will fall at your feet.”

The effect of this statement was to make Darcy immediately fall silent. The ease he was beginning to experience was gone and he felt the tension return to his expression. He bowed rather stiffly and saw the amused exasperation on the man's face, incensing him further. Even this man, mired in his tomes and his greenhouses, thought he was a joke.

“I believe the music is ending,” Darcy said unemotionally. “I shall return to the ballroom.”

Instead of being offended, a curious light lit Robinson's eyes. “So it is,” he agreed. “And my courage now fortified, I have a lady to seek out. If you will excuse me?” And saying so, he moved towards the door of the ballroom.

But Darcy was quicker. Almost before he knew what he intended, he stepped around Robinson and with his longer legs reached the terrace doors, and pulling them instantly open, stepped through them. He turned back and had a glance of Robinson's face, wide-eyed and mouth agape, before he pulled the doors shut again and with a deft turn of his wrist, flicked the latch and locked the door from the inside. The blaze of light from the ballroom reflected in perfect mirror the scene inside and rendered Robinson invisible, but Darcy could swear, as he walked away, that he heard the sound of laughter.

*****

The dancers had dispersed. The ballroom, dissolved into an orderless mass, was loud with chatter and the ring of glassware as wine and punch and champagne were retrieved and consumed. Darcy felt a moment's desperation, thinking he would never find Elizabeth in all this, when Colonel Forster in conversation with Lord Wakefield, suddenly stepped aside and Darcy saw her.

He wondered briefly if he was mad but there was no answer forthcoming. The smell of cigar smoke was gone from his nose and he moved towards her, hardly noticing until he actually stood before her that she was speaking to someone else. Miss Lucas, an expectant look on her face, was watching him, and Elizabeth, her lips tight and her eyebrows drawn together, could hardly meet his eye.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, bowing. “Would you do me the honour of dancing the next with me?”

She seemed stunned. She stammered, then stopped, then stuttered her consent, and having received it, he bowed again and retreated—he hardly knew where.

She had said yes. And he had surprised her. He felt himself smiling and could hardly stop it. He had thought she must have been expecting him to ask but the look on her face had left him in no doubt that she had been caught unawares by the offer and he felt triumph that he had managed to do something so wholly unexpected. For the first time since they had met, he felt he had the upper hand. He was determined now to hold onto it.

The next dance was called almost before he was ready for it and he stopped in his tracks, looking around to find his mindless wanderings had brought him almost to the other side of the room. Feeling like a fool, he turned back and hurried to where he had left Elizabeth minutes before. He found her, as tight-lipped as before, with Miss Lucas whispering something chiding into her ear. He wondered what it was but Elizabeth made Miss Lucas no answer, accepting Darcy's wordless arm with silence of her own.

It was a country dance, and as he led Elizabeth around the floor on the brief promenade, he felt every eye upon them. He wondered, not for the first time, if he had made a mistake, and by the time they took their place in the line and the music had begun, he was almost sure of it. He was aware of the wondering gazes of the other guests, the fluttered fans disguising furious whispers. He saw Lady Diana, several couples down the line, staring at him with something approaching fury and Gussie Stanhope, standing up with Daniel Chawley, had the temerity to wink at him. It was Robinson, however, appearing suddenly within the line of Darcy's sight, that most discomposed him. Rosy cheeked from the cold, he was watching Elizabeth with a pensive expression on his face, but when his gaze shifted and he met Darcy's eye, a sudden yielding smile quirked his lips, then he bowed and turned his back and walked away. And only then did Darcy understand just how magnificently disastrous this was.

But it was too late. The dance had begun, the first couple had skipped down the line, and here he stood with the penniless daughter of an irrelevant country gentleman, his first dance in a neighbourhood where he had never danced before. He wondered what he had been thinking, but he knew he had not been. He had let emotion drive him and now he was here, committed for who only knew how long for the endless duration of two longways dances at an insignificant country ball. Gossip would have them engaged before morning.  _Good God, what have I done?_

His only hope was that word would not spread to his family. London, he knew he had no hope for, not from the way Gussie Stanhope was grinning at him as she skipped past and around him.

Across from him, Miss Elizabeth Bennet said something polite about the dance, he hardly knew what, and he answered distractedly. He felt all the evils of his situation and short of walking from the floor in a dudgeon, he did not know how to fix it.

“It is _your_ turn to say something now, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth said then, breaking suddenly into this litany of self-recrimination, and he looked at her and the glitter of challenge in her provocative eye. _“I_ talked about the dance and _you_ ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”

All at once, the sense of certainty, of the inevitability of his course that he had felt when he had stood in the corridor and held that atrocious novel in his hand and simply _known_ that he was now meant to dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, was returned. The rest of the room faded away. The fear of gossip was gone. What did it matter if people knew he had danced at a country ball with an undistinguished local girl? Anybody hearing of it would instantly know that his doing so could only have been a favour to Charles Bingley. It might be thought of as a good joke but Darcy found he did not fear being laughed at, not when it was a consequence of such a pleasing action as this. The only thing he feared now was that Elizabeth should turn that teasing look from him and direct it to someone else.

“I assure you, I am perfectly ready to say whatever you wish to be said,” he told her with a smile.

She looked at him with narrow-eyed skepticism. “Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps, by and by, I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones—But _now,_ we may be silent.”

“Do you talk by rule then while you are dancing?”

“Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of _some,_ conversation ought to be so arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible.”

“Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?”

“Both,” replied Elizabeth archly. “For I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb.”

If not for the mischief in her look, he would have been considerably offended at what she must consider a fair depiction of his own character. But he restrained his instinct to find offence, his tone deliberately light as he answered. “This is no very striking resemblance to your own character, I am sure,” he said. “How near it may be to _mine,_ I cannot pretend to say. _You_ think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly.”

“I must not decide on my own performance,” she said, confirming him in his opinion that this could be nothing but flirtatiousness on her part. He remembered their conversation about accomplishments and how she had driven him to anger and he did not doubt that she was testing him now. _Performance, indeed,_ he thought to himself, but something in her expression gave him pause and he felt suddenly that the ground he stood upon was perhaps not as certain as he thought and he found he could not answer her.

Possibly, by the gravity of her expression, Darcy might have seen that something was more seriously amiss, but he was distracted by observing that the dancing would soon reach them and realised that in mere moments he would be expected not only to skip down the line in view of the whole room but to do so while holding Elizabeth's hand for some of it. _Her gloved hand,_ he reminded himself, but it was useless. He could feel himself alternately grow hot and then cold. He hated dancing and country dances were particularly loathsome. He would make a fool of himself and she would stand in the centre of the ballroom, surrounded by thirty other couples and laugh at him and she would never speak to him again unless it was in order to mock him. He spent a wild instant wondering if simply walking off the floor would be less humiliating after all when suddenly the moment was upon him and countless hours of dance instruction and twenty-seven years of expectations and manners came to his rescue and Elizabeth's (gloved) hand was in his and they were taking their turn in the figures of the dance as though they had been doing so together for years.

And almost as suddenly, it was over and it was their turn once more to stand, Elizabeth the prescribed four and a half feet away, and he wondered not for the first time what mad man had invented dancing as a way to ease social intercourse, and by the look of unhappiness on Elizabeth's face she was feeling the awkward tension between them as much as he was. He sought some way to dispel this, to bring the laughter back into her eyes, but he could think of nothing that might be allowable within the confines of a country dance until he recalled that she had told him quite plainly what she required from a dance partner: conversation. What a fool he was!

“Do you and your sisters often walk into Meryton?” he asked with only the barest quiver of nerves.

“Yes,” she answered, and then after a moment, obviously not thinking this was quite enough, elaborated with, “We do.” Another pause followed in which he caught the flicker of a half calculating, half fearful glance directed towards him before she said, “When you met us there the other day we had just been forming a new acquaintance.”

The effect was immediate. He stiffened and his expression turned cold. He understood instantly to what she referred and he wondered again what lies Wickham had been telling. He would not ask, no more than he could turn his back and walk away as he had done with Captain Carter and Major Pratt. Though it was little more than she deserved, he knew that to leave her, as he had done those gentlemen, would reflect worse on him than it would on her and some instinct told him that offending one of the neighbourhood's favourite daughters would do nothing for his own cause, not to mention how poorly it would reflect on Charles. And although he could hardly admit it to himself in this moment when she proving to be as idle tongued as every other woman of his acquaintance, he did not wish to humiliate her, nor—may God help him—leave her. And looking at her after several silent minutes, he saw something like shame on her face and he felt something in him unbend a little, enough at least for him to say: “Mr Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his _making_ friends. Where he may be equally capable of _retaining_ them is less certain.”

 _There,_ he thought. _That should be enough to at least acquit me of complete villainy._

But her next words proved him wrong. “He has been so unlucky as to lose _your_ friendship,” she said with some emphasis. “And in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life.”

Darcy, fighting against indignation, could think of nothing to say that would not reveal the whole, and so he said nothing. He sought in his mind for some way to change the subject but it was Sir William, meaning to pass through their set to the other side of the room, that rescued him.

Upon perceiving Darcy, he stopped suddenly and with a bow of superior courtesy, proceeded to compliment him on his dancing and on his partner.

“I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear Sir. Such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Miss Eliza, shall take place.” And with an arch glance down the line to where Charles and Miss Jane Bennet were dancing: “What congratulations will then flow in! I appeal to Mr Darcy-- but let me not interrupt you, Sir. You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me.”

The latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy, however. Sir William's allusion to the expected nuptials of Charles and Miss Bennet could hardly be misconstrued and Darcy was struck forcibly by it. He had warned Charles that he would excite gossip by singling Miss Bennet out, but that it had so quickly come to such a head shocked him. Any thought that this might simply be the product of Sir William's overactive imagination was dismissed with a single glance at Elizabeth's face: while she was flushed and embarrassed by Sir William's presumption, he could tell instantly that her embarrassment stemmed from the vulgarity of Sir William's speech and not the truth of its implications. That the entire neighbourhood viewed the couple as near to being engaged as made no difference was indisputable, and Darcy, filled with the dawning realisation that his own distraction with the lady's sister had led to this, saw with an instant flash of insight how culpable he was in his friend's downfall.

Bitter self-recrimination threatened to swamp him, but he controlled his thoughts with an effort. There was nothing he could do for Charles at this moment, but that it meant the expeditious removal from the neighbourhood of their whole party was unavoidable. And the fact that that removal would also mean his own departure from the vicinity of Miss Elizabeth Bennet filled him with a wrenching dismay that was instantly, ruthlessly repressed. But that that same removal freed him now to enjoy this last evening in company with Elizabeth came hard upon its heels, and something like relief filling him, he turned back to her, where she stood grave and humiliated across from him.

“Sir William's interruption has made me forget what we were talking of,” he said.

“I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. We have tried two or three subjects already without success and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.”

This savoured strongly of the pique of a woman too long ignored and he found himself smiling.

“What think you of books?” he said.

“Books! Oh, no,” she said with certainty. “I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings.”

“I am sorry you think so. But if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject: we may compare our different opinions.”

“No, I cannot talk of books in a ballroom. My head is always full of something else.”

“The _present_ always occupies you in such scenes, does it?” he said with some doubt.

“Yes, always,” she said, but he was aware that she was distracted, hardly attending to him at all, and with a growing feeling of uncertainty he realised he might have misunderstood her, and what he had taken for pique was in fact deeper offence. Her next words almost certainly confirmed it.

“I remember hearing you once say, Mr Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave; that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its _being created.”_

“I am,” he said firmly.

“And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?”

“I hope not.”

“It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion to be secure of judging properly at first.”

Doubt, its first footholds gained, now intruded with unrelenting determination. “May I ask to what these questions tend?” he said, though he feared he knew the answer.

“Merely to the illustration of your character,” said said, and he saw her exert some effort to appear in her usual good humour. “I am trying to make it out.”

“And what is your success?”

She shook her head. “I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.”

“I can readily believe that report may vary greatly with respect to me,” he answered gravely. “And I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.” It was a gentle reprimand and he hoped a sufficient one, but the seriousness that lay behind the rather forced smile on her face only deepened.

“But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity,” she said, and while the tone was light her expression was not.

He bowed, the slightest inclination of his head, and coldly replied: “I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours.”

She did not answer, and indeed, for the rest of the dance and the entirety of the second, not another word was spoken between them. Darcy was aware of the looks directed at them and knew they must appear ridiculous, both of them cloaked in their offended dignity as they danced down the set for a second time. This time, Gussie Stanhope was not smiling, but he rather thought that Lady Diana was.


	24. Vingt-quatre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my socks, this thing was a monster to write. I'm sure you'll all becoming inured to my apologies by now, but I'm so sorry. To (hopefully) make up for it, it's long and what must be the most protracted ball in history is finally over.
> 
> Since I seem to be sucking at this whole update thing currently, I'm switching it officially to once a week. I mean, it's good cuz yay income, but also it's bad cuz boo I actually have to do things again. Ugh. "Doing things." So overrated.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the monster. I really want to say this was last week's update and I'll get you another one still this week, but it's Thursday in about an hour and by Thursday night things are always chaos again so...let's instead say I'll see you guys next week. Thank you all for hanging in there. I can at least promise that I won't abandon the story, even if my output is pure suckage.

Although upon the completion of their dance Darcy left Elizabeth in considerable resentment, it was not to be expected that the emotion could be of long duration. Indeed, it was quickly overcome upon seeing her some little time later as she listened with obvious displeasure to some speech of Caroline's across the room. The patent evidence of her own discomfort and ire quickly overcame his own and he was suddenly acquainted with an unfamiliar desire to go to her at once. But although the desire was repressed, the softening of his thoughts towards her was the inevitable result and he had very soon convinced himself that any misapprehension could be laid squarely at George Wickham's door and that Elizabeth could not possibly be to blame for that dastard's fatal plausibility.

The supper dance followed, the German Waltz, and Darcy watched the graceful figures with a concentration that would have raised several eyebrows among his acquaintance. But he was determined that his gaze not be drawn constantly to Elizabeth. In the end, however, it was an easier task than he anticipated, for he was distracted by Bingley and Miss Bennet, gazing soulfully into one another's eyes as they twirled about each other, almost oblivious to the other dancers around them, inattentive to the point of rudeness when they happened to change partners, and attracting the vulgar attention of almost the whole room. He was wholly relieved when their inattention caused them to stumble against the second couple in their set and in the ensuing jumble of limbs, the hem of Miss Bennet's gown was stepped upon and torn.

_Now the tears shall begin,_ Darcy thought with some savage pleasure, envisioning Bingley's rude awakening when his 'angel' turned out to be just another woman filled with recriminations and accusations when her partner turned out to be less than ideal. But his brow lowered and his face set into a scowl when Miss Bennet, still smiling, assured the gentleman who had stepped on her that it had been entirely her fault anyway, and refusing to accept Bingley's abject and horrified apologies as she had been just as inattentive as he and the gown could be pinned up in a trice besides. And all parties smiling and perfectly satisfied with one another, Bingley escorted Miss Bennet from the floor into her mother's waiting hands and went off himself in the direction of the refreshment table where Darcy could see him joining the queue for punch.

Feeling oddly thwarted, he took himself off after his friend, where he found him smiling stupidly at the air in front of him while he waited. It took several attempts for Darcy to capture his attention, and when he did, Bingley's smile only widened.

“Darcy! Was not this a wonderful idea? I wish we could have a ball every night!”

Darcy shuddered with speechless horror. “I imagine the expense might soon become overwhelming.”

Bingley only laughed. “What a fellow you are for entirely missing the point. But come, I saw you dancing with Miss Elizabeth. I believe I even saw you smiling at one point. I must say, I am pleased you have decided to try for a bit of civility in that direction, for it would be awkward to have you on such ill terms with her. She and Jane are very close, you know.”

A frisson of alarm went up Darcy's spine at this rather pointed hint, perilously close to a declaration. “Jane, is it?” he said somewhat caustically.

A flush stained Bingley's cheeks, but it was one of pleasure. “Yes, for we have decided it is absolutely nonsensical to Miss This and Mr That one another now that she has been ill inside my house for almost a whole week. And Darcy--” and here he directed shining eyes filled with wonder to his friend. “I think-- that is, I very much  _know_ that--”

Darcy, who had no wish to hear the inevitable confession of supposedly mutual adoration, was grateful for perhaps the first time in his life to Viscount Egerton who stumbled suddenly into Bingley with a full glass of wine, the inevitable result of which was Bingley's once snowy cravat was now stained a deep amber. Muttering in vexation and casting a glare at Egerton, Bingley hurriedly excused himself, charging Darcy with the task of informing Miss Bennet— _Jane!—_ where he had gone, then took himself off. Egerton, looking at his half empty glass with some sorrow, stumbled off again to ruin somebody else's wardrobe.

Several minutes later, spotting Miss Bennet returned from repairing her gown, he made his way to her, and delivering Bingley's message, she gave a serene smile of placid acknowledgement and then asked Darcy if he was enjoying the ball.

_No,_ he almost snapped, but didn't. “It is very enlivening,” he said instead.

“I am glad to hear you say so. I had been afraid that it must be very dull for you, Mr Darcy. After all, you must be used to going to all the grand parties in London.”

_So that is her game,_ he thought to himself.  _She wishes a passport into the ton and believes she will be accepted with Charles on my coattails._ He could not blame her for wishing to make a good match, but he would be damned if he allowed it to be at the expense of his friend.

Answering that thought rather than the words, he said somewhat obscurely: “Charles has quite his own friends in town, Miss Bennet.”

She looked rather perplexed at this answer and he congratulated himself on dampening her pretensions.

“Yes, I have seen several of them tonight,” she said after an uncertain moment. “They are very elegant looking people. I had thought-- that is, are they not also friends of yours?”

_Now she is trying to inveigle an introduction out of me!_ “Mere acquaintances,” he said dismissively. “As I said, Charles has his own friends.”

She frowned slightly and contrived to look concerned. “How unfortunate. You must feel very isolated here, Mr Darcy. I had thought Charles would have invited those you might both have enjoyed the company of. I did not think you conversed easily with relative strangers. It would perhaps have been a kindness to have invited some of your friends, as well.”

Realising he had somehow contrived to paint Bingley as a monster of selfishness, Darcy decided he had better not reply, and after another moment Miss Bennet excused herself. He watched her go until he noticed where her path was leading her to and then he quickly turned his back: _I will not look at Elizabeth._

Wondering what he could find to do for the next five or so hours of tedium, he spotted Lord Wakefield, flirting outrageously with Penelope Harrington, who was giggling and looking none too steady with a glass of champagne. Feeling at least fifty years old, Darcy approached them and with ruthless intent interrupted the old roué mid-sentence with a question on his thoughts of the new National Society in comparison to the Lancasterian System for educating the poor.

As Lord Wakefield only thought of the poor inasmuch as they provided the income for his dogs and his horses, he could not reply to this, but as Darcy used his stammering as an opportunity to glare at the girl and see her, abashed, wander away, he did not press the point, and after, having firmly established Lord Wakefield's ignorance on the matter, he turned the subject to Lord Ambleford, who at the age of seventy had recently remarried and to a lady who was the same age as his youngest grandchild, only to die of a heart spasm on his wedding night. He wondered if Lord Wakefield had been to the funeral but Lord Wakefield, looking decidedly red-faced at this point, mumbled something incoherent and quickly excused himself.

When Caroline approached him a moment later, he felt almost pleased to see her, and when she raised an expressive eyebrow at him he could not forbear returning the gesture.

“I see you are enjoying yourself nearly as much as I am,” she said. “Poor Mr Darcy!”

“I cannot lay claim to that epithet,” he protested. “For I have not only strolled upon the terrace and thought of blowing a cloud, but I have also danced two dances, and only just now discouraged Lord Wakefield from seducing the local maidens. What more can one ask for in an evening's entertainment?”

“A great deal! Entertainment, indeed! What can this paltry gathering compare to the finest parties in London?”

Darcy, understanding he was meant to disagree with this, said: “You wrong yourself. While one cannot expect the quality of company that one must find in town, the arrangements themselves do you credit.”

She smirked and simpered and Darcy tried not to feel annoyed at it.

“I have been meaning to speak to you,” she said then. “It is about Charles.”

“I can guess what you might have to say. But your brother goes to London tomorrow; we may speak more freely then.”

“I would be excessively grateful for your advice, Mr Darcy. I know you are used to standing in the role of masculine good sense for half your family! Miss de Bourgh in particular must feel the want of male guidance, as fatherless as she is. And as admirable your aunt Lady Catherine is, I somehow do not find it entirely comfortable to think of a woman in the sole charge of so many weighty burdens—of so many lives one may say!”

“One may, indeed. Your sentiments do you credit, Miss Bingley. My aunt is indeed a formidable woman, but there are naturally limits to her capability.”

“She must be very grateful for your help.”

Knowing that his aunt was not at all grateful for what little aid she allowed him to render—a constant sore point between them—he did not reply.

They were silent for a brief moment and then Caroline, not quite looking at him, managed to appear both innocent and sly and said: “By the by, Miss Eliza has been asking about Mr Wickham. It seems she has some bee in her bonnet about him and has convinced poor Jane to quiz Charles on the subject. I taxed her with it of course, the impertinence of the girl! And after all, I should not like to see any young lady taken in by a scoundrel and so I told her. And what did she reply but that I had made the whole thing up out of whole cloth simply because he was merely the son of your old steward! It is quite obvious to me that Miss Eliza has a taste for low company. I wished very much that I could set her straight but Charles did not tell us what Mr Wickham had done, of course.” She looked at him expectantly, but as he was silently seething at her speech, he did not answer, and after several moments of awkward silence she noted suddenly that the second dance of the set was about to begin and that she must hasten to the supper room to ensure that all was in readiness.

Darcy was unsure whether he was more angry at Elizabeth for daring to make inquiries of Bingley or with Caroline for confronting him with the subject at all. But he recalled then that any inquiries of Elizabeth's must have been set forth before he himself had informed her of Wickham's villainy. It was also flattering to himself, he decided. For she must undoubtedly have noticed his reaction on seeing Wickham on that fateful day in Meryton, and owing to her own good sense, she allowed herself to realise that any man to whom he must react so violently, must surely deserve some further scrutiny paid to him. That she had not disbelieved Wickham's lies was clear by her attack on him, but her further delving into the matter from other sources showed that at least some kernel of doubt existed within her. He felt a fluttering of pride for her intelligence and her good sense and thought perhaps it would not be such a bad idea to have that second dance with her after all, when he noticed suddenly that someone stood at his elbow. He felt an insistent hand tugging at his sleeve, and turning around he found himself confronted by a man only vaguely familiar and it took him several moments, while the man bowed and scraped and smirked at him, to recall that here before him stood the Longbourn heir.

For several seconds he thought his memory must be faulty. Surely they must have been introduced to have the fellow bowing to him now, but he could not for the life of him recall it, and the idea was soon dismissed upon hearing the man's own words a moment later.

“Mr Darcy, sir, you must allow me to introduce myself. I am William Collins. You might wonder at my temerity, sir, in accosting you thus, but I can assure you that, as the holder of the rectory of a _certain parish_ , I am thus—as I am sure you must agree—not so unworthy as you might think to approach you! My cousin Miss Elizabeth Bennet thought you might not be pleased, but ladies, as excellent as they are, cannot understand these matters as we gentlemen do, do not you think?”

It was fortunate perhaps that he did not stop for an answer, for Darcy, staring at him with not inconsiderable astonishment, could not think of what to say.

Mr Collins continued: “For you must give me leave to observe that, provided the proper humility of behaviour is maintained, it cannot be said to go too far to declare that the office of the clergy must be as equal to that of the highest rank in the kingdom. The conviction that you must think as I do prevents me from offering an apology for thus accosting you, and when you hear what I have to say you will no doubt have reason to be doubly thankful. No doubt you are wondering what cause you might have to be thankful to a humble parson such as myself, but I will not leave you in suspense: allow me to inform you that I find myself, through the wise and generous condescension of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, to be in the enviable position of rector at Hunsford, a living which, as you must know, lies within her noble purview.”

There was an expectant pause, and realising that he was here to be given leave to speak, Darcy said rather blightingly: “Lady Catherine is well known for her bestowal of favours, however unfathomable they must seem to those of less discernment than herself.”

And although Darcy's expression was cold, it was clear Mr Collins understood this to be praise of no mean order. He preened gratifyingly beneath this benediction and thanked Mr Darcy humbly for such a worthy compliment.

“For I do not pretend that Lady Catherine has not spoken of you often, and in such terms as must make one aware of the great condescension you show in meting out your distinguished approval. I assure you, I am not ignorant of the honour you bestow and hope to be of service to you in some way, any way at all, at any point in the future. You will find me a most willing and humble servant, Mr Darcy. Although my current task can only be to assure you that I have left her Ladyship in most rude health some eight days since. Though perhaps I should not say so, for Lady Catherine, as an arbiter of taste and refinement, could never be rude. Indeed, it seems almost offensive to use such a word to refer to one of the noblest ladies in the kingdom. I feel that whosoever first used such a word for such a purpose must not have been thinking of any very _high_ personage. Perhaps a labourer might be described as such. I shall perhaps say she is in noble health! And if she had known I would have the felicity of encountering her nephew upon my travels she would undoubtedly have charged me with some message for you, and if you might humbly allow me to be of such signal service, I would modestly engage to carry whatever message to her Ladyship you would wish to convey.”

Here he paused again, as if in full expectation of having Darcy announce in the middle of a ballroom some message for his aunt. Only one thing prevented Darcy from offering this long-winded lickspittle the cut direct, and that was the knowledge that this was Elizabeth's relation, and though he did not once look in her direction, he was unaccountably aware of where she stood not ten yards distant, watching them with a look of fascinated mortification on her blushing face. And so, as soon as his aunt's mushroom rector fell silent, Darcy allowed him the slightest of bows—for he could force himself to do no more—and only then walked away.

But once he was safely away, he could not help glancing back to where Elizabeth stood. Some foolish part of him wished she would be watching him, that turning he might meet her eye and a wealth of understanding might pass between them in that instant, her eyes pleading for sympathy and his, with understated generosity, giving it. She would blush, look away, and an instant later her gaze would flicker back and she would see, without need of asking anyone else, that he was exactly what he had shown himself to be: honourable, trustworthy, and a gentleman.

But when he looked back she was not looking at him. Her repulsive relation was congratulating himself to her and she was listening with an expression of rapt humiliation on her face. It was no wonder she could not bring herself to look at Darcy. But rather than discouraging him, Darcy felt a thrill of elation at the modesty of the woman he had chosen to honour with his attention.

As inevitably must happen, the supper dance finally ended and on its tail supper began. Bingley, who was managing to scandalise the entire neighbourhood without even noticing, had now been in company with Miss Bennet for nearly two hours and as he gave her his arm to lead her into the supper room, it was clear he was delighted to have that now extended for the duration of supper itself. Darcy, who had been riding triumphant on his reflections on Elizabeth Bennet, felt the tarnish of the evening begin to creep back in as he watched with exasperation as the eyes and the titters followed the couple, themselves utterly inattentive to the talk they were inspiring. So distracted was Darcy he hardly noticed who it was who asked for his arm in to supper, and it was only as he began to look about for a table that he noticed it was Lady Lucas. He was horrified when, after seating her, two of the remaining places were instantly taken up by Sir William and Mrs Bennet, the lady of which, hardly waiting until she was sat down, was instantly demanding in a voice loud with exultation whether or not Lady Lucas had witnessed Jane's triumph.

Thankful that he did not have to stay to hear it, he excused himself to fill a plate for himself and his partner and when he returned his horror was tempered with a thrill of nerves as he saw that in his absence the table had all but filled and amongst its occupants were Elizabeth, seated one apart from her mother with only Sir William between them. He understood the unhappy look on her face when, upon taking his own seat nearly directly across from her, he could hear with absolute clarity the tenor of Mrs Bennet's conversation.

Although that lady addressed all her remarks to Lady Lucas, her voice was such that it easily carried above all other talk and it was soon clear that the entire table was listening with perfect ease. It was an animating subject and Mrs Bennet seemed incapable of fatigue while enumerating the advantages of the match—for match she and everybody else clearly considered it—between Mr Bingley and Jane. His being such a charming young man, so rich, and living but three miles from them, were the first points of self-congratulation; and then it was such a comfort to think how fond the two sisters were of Jane and to be certain that they must desire the connection as much as she could do. (Mr Darcy allowed himself the relief of rolling his eyes at this.) It was, moreover, such a promising thing for her younger daughters, as Jane's marrying so greatly must throw them in the way of other rich men; and lastly, it was so pleasant at her time of life to be able to consign her single daughters to the care of their married sister that she herself might not be obliged to go into company more than she liked. Even Darcy, who hardly knew the woman, understood this to be as big a piece of nonsense as ever he'd heard, for he could envision no one less likely than Mrs Bennet to find comfort in staying at home at any period of her life. But Lady Lucas was nodding at her side as though this was only natural, in spite of the condescension with which Mrs Bennet, with many good wishes, hoped that Lady Lucas might soon be equally fortunate though in a tone that evidently and triumphantly believed there was no chance of it.

As Sir William had gone to procure plates for himself and for Mrs Bennet, the seat separating Elizabeth from her mother was vacant and she took advantage of it by leaning slightly across the intervening space and begging her mother to check the rapidity of her words, or at least to give vent to them in a less audible whisper. He saw rather than heard his own name on Elizabeth's lips and he surmised she must be drawing her mother's attention to his presence and this was borne out a moment later by Mrs Bennet exclaiming with some scorn: “Do not be so nonsensical, Lizzy! What is Mr Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing _he_ may not like to hear.”

Elizabeth once more begged her mother's silence, and though he once more caught the shape of his name on her lips, he could not hear what she said. However, it made no difference. If anything, the daughter's intervention only served to embolden the mother, and with an air of defiance she began again from where she had left off, in counting off the virtues of the assumed match between Bingley and Jane Bennet and describing in loving detail the arrangements of Jane's eventual wardrobe, carriages, and servants.

Elizabeth meanwhile blushed and blushed again. Mr Bennet, who had escorted his second daughter into supper, appeared with their plates and Darcy thought perhaps that here would Mrs Bennet's exultation come to an end, but he was mistaken: Mr Bennet, with every evidence of sitting down to enjoy himself, ate his supper and smirked, his eyes sparkling with amused mockery at each new declaration of his wife's. Elizabeth, rather than growing less agitated, only blushed more. Darcy, determined that his own reaction at least should cause her no embarrassment, schooled his features into as blank a mask as he could manage so that she might detect nothing in it to further her distress.

Eventually, even Lady Lucas' store of patience began to wear thin and Mrs Bennet, sensing she had lost her audience, soon grew quiet and everyone at the table was finally able to concentrate on their supper. Elizabeth now began to revive, but her interval of tranquility was not long, for when supper was over, singing was talked of and Darcy, having carefully observed her this while, saw the flush of anxiety once more darken her cheeks. Following her gaze, he saw Miss Mary Bennet, with very little prompting, rise with unbecoming alacrity and move towards the pianoforte.

Having spent the previous five weeks being forced to listen to the wretched girl perform at various neighbourhood parties, he felt the same weary sense of inevitability he always did upon the sight of Mary Bennet, clutching her books and eyes determinedly fixed on the instrument, as if by looking away from it someone might snatch it from her. As she moved towards it with decision, Darcy allowed his gaze and his attention to wander as he usually did, and as generally happened, they landed on Elizabeth, who was staring with some intensity in Mary's direction. Darcy, in full sympathy with that persistent gaze which desperately sought to cause it's object to turn in their direction and read their plea for moderation, had no trouble grasping the purpose of that scrutiny. But Mary, with the conviction of youth, refused to see her sister's eloquent look and without an instant's hesitation she sat down and opened her music.

Miss Mary's powers were by no means fitted for such a display. That she revelled in the exhibition was clear; that she took some pride in her own skill was unquestionable. But to the greater part of the audience—excepting perhaps the kindest and the most ignorant of her neighbours—there was very little difference of opinion: her voice was weak and her manner was affected. For the first song she was politely if impatiently endured. But upon its completion, hearing Sir William's enthusiastic praise, she immediately sat down again and began another.

The silent patience of her audience could not be expected for a second song. The London guests, used to being better entertained, began the revolt by resuming their chatter without much compunction for the feelings of the performer. Slowly, as though taking their example from this lofty set, several of the more local members of the audience who before this had spent countless occasions listening to Mary Bennet's labours on the pianoforte without a murmur of complaint or judgment, began to talk as well, and soon the sound of Mary's voice, lifted in insignificant song, could hardly be heard over that of the room.

Darcy, aware that he himself was being observed by an agonised Elizabeth, ensured the placidity of his features. He was aware of Caroline and Louisa, seated together at the next table, attempting to catch his eye in order to share in their derision, but he would not be drawn and with studious determination he fixed his gaze upon Mary and listened as sincerely as he could.

When she again finished, Sir William, who had been listening with unfailing kindness to her meagre display, looked again to be on the verge of some remark of intemperate pleasure, but Mr Bennet was quicker. With no little prodding from his second daughter, he rose hurriedly to his feet and said loud enough that he might be heard over the chatter of the room and thereby be heard by half the room as well: “That will do extremely well, child. You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit.” And his duty seen to be done, he once more sat himself down.

Mary Bennet, though pretending not to hear, looked to be disconcerted and with some awkwardness rose from the stool and scuttled back to her seat, books clutched once more safely in her arms. Darcy, now that the interminable performance was at an end, was able to be charitable and he felt some pity rise in him for the girl. Undoubtedly grateful for the result, he could not think her father's noisy declaration had done aught but humiliate her and he felt strongly that it should have been done with more tact.

The evening's entertainment was not at an end, however. Upon Caroline applying to her guests for further performances, Darcy's previous tormentor rose suddenly to his feet from the next table over.

“If I,” said Mr Collins, “Were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an air; for I consider music as a very innocent diversion and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman. I do not mean, however, to assert that we can be justified in devoting too much of our time to music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to. The rector of a parish has much to do! In the first place, he must make such an agreement for tithes as may be beneficial to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons; and the time that remains will not be too much for his parish duties and the care and improvement of his dwelling which he cannot be excused from making as comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance that he should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards everybody, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment. I cannot acquit him of that duty, nor could I think well of the man who should omit an occasion of testifying his respect towards anybody connected with the family.” And with a bow to Darcy, whose determination to show no sign of contempt was under considerable strain, he concluded his speech. As seemed to be habit with the family, he spoke loud enough to be heard by half the room and Darcy felt his cheeks colouring up at the amused stares that Mr Collins' attention to him inspired. None were so amused as Mr Bennet, however, and no one so loud in response as his wife, who seriously commended Mr Collins for having spoken so sensibly and observed in an audible half-whisper heard by the whole table that he was a remarkably clever, good kind of young man.

Gussie Stanhope rose at this point, announcing loudly that she would play for them all. Darcy, who knew for a fact that she was only an indifferent performer herself, could only wonder at this. It did not occur to him, as she pounded away with great spirit and little accuracy, that she might be doing it to ease some of the awkward embarrassment that pervaded the room, but as she finished off her song with considerable enthusiasm, Caroline was immediately there to take over from her, seating herself with a determination that was, perhaps not polite, but of considerable relief to the audience who knew her to be a talented player with a good voice.

Upon the completion of her song, not daring to ask again if anyone else would play, supper was declared over and the party began once more to drift back into the main rooms where the orchestra, fortified by their break, were ready once more to oblige the ladies with their choice of songs.

Feeling that he had acquitted himself well over supper, Darcy thought he deserved some reward. His observation of Bingley and Miss Bennet over the course of the meal led him to believe that all the vulgarity of his chosen flirt's family had passed by Bingley without a single degree of notice. The only time he and Jane Bennet had stopped speaking to one another had been for the duration of the musical entertainment, for both Charles and Miss Bennet were too well-bred to interrupt a performance. But even then Bingley looked hardly to be listening, his eyes straying constantly to Miss Bennet's profile and the fatuous smile on his face indicating his mind was too busy in daydreams to pay much attention to his ears. Miss Bennet's smile, in contrast with Bingley's, had been as placid as ever.

As such, Darcy's resolve to remove Bingley from the neighbourhood was as strong as ever. He had some idea for doing it but it was something he would need to think on tomorrow, when he heard what Caroline had to say. Instead, Darcy decided that what he most wanted now was his second dance with Elizabeth. It would be dangerous, he knew, if he meant to remain in the area, but as he did not intend to stay above one day after Bingley quit it, he knew he was safe. The lady's hopes might be raised by the end of the night, but by Thursday she would be disabused of any notions she might have had on that score, for he would be gone and without any intention of coming back.

His course thus determined, he made his way to where Elizabeth sat beside Miss Lucas, but he was brought up short by the presence of Mr Collins, hovering before her and attempting to persuade her that her refusal to dance with him for a second time was the result of some ladylike qualm.

“For your sense of propriety is everything admirable, my dear cousin Elizabeth. That you should instinctively humble yourself before attention is proof of your feminine delicacy and the modesty of your hopes. But I assure you, no castigation shall befall you for standing up with me a second time. No question could be made when it must be known how I stand with your family.”

“I assure you, sir, I do not mean to torment you with any such false modesty in refusing your hand a second time. I sincerely do not mean to dance. I would beg you most earnestly to see to the other ladies who have no partners, for you see I do not mean to stand up again and there are several who would be grateful for any such attention.”

“Your magnanimity cannot be questioned, my dear cousin! Such generosity of spirit, when I know it is the greatest objective of every young lady to attach a personable young gentleman for the space of a dance, it cannot go unrewarded! Fear not that I shall abandon you, for I shall not! I shall remain at your side so that you may rest here undisturbed by the importunities of others.”

“I would beg you would not, Mr Collins! For as you see I am perfectly safe here with no need for protection, and you would not be abandoning me for as you see Miss Lucas sits here with me.”

“Ah! I understand you! You have secrets you wish to discuss! But I assure you, my dear cousin Elizabeth, that as a clergyman I am amongst the most trustworthy of men and any secrets I might happen to overhear would not pass my lips, not for all the world!”

“Mr Collins,” Miss Lucas said suddenly, drawing his attention as the expression on Elizabeth's face was becoming desperate, “Perhaps you would be so kind as to fetch us some lemonade.”

“My dear Miss Lucas, it would be my greatest pleasure!” he announced rapturously, and bowing low and with pronounced elegance, he left them.

Immediately he was gone, Miss Lucas clutched Elizabeth's hand and Elizabeth, fire in her bright eyes, began whispering with some force to her friend who looked to be attempting to soothe her. Darcy, feeling as though he could cheerfully murder his aunt's meddling rector, knew that in refusing Collins she could not now stand up with anybody else and so with some bitterness of feeling he retreated. He did not approach her, but he remained within her sight.

He encountered little to satisfy him for the rest of the evening, unless the sight of Robinson being turned regretfully away by Elizabeth could satisfy him, which it did for a short time. Bingley, who could not in all propriety dance again with Jane, and being too polite to sit out the rest of the evening, ensured that he at least stood in the couple next to her in every country dance and only when a waltz played did he neglect to stand up entirely, instead spending the quarter of an hour fetching Miss Bennet a glass of punch she did not ask for and then hovering at the edge of the dance floor in all eagerness to present it to her, much in the manner of a dog presenting its master with a stick.

Miss Mary Bennet had vanished again, as she always did in a ballroom, but the two younger girls, who had clearly imbibed, bounced their way gigglingly through a cotillion and when the second waltz was called, nothing loth, they curtsied unsteadily and partnered one another, laughing uproariously the whole time.

Darcy, feeling scandalised, could scarcely believe the indulgence with which their parents viewed this action. While it was obvious Caroline was attempting to provide some interest to what could have threatened to be an otherwise dull party by having the waltz danced, it could not but displease to see two such young ladies indulging in an activity the propriety of which was so hotly debated. He thought it was no bad thing that the young ladies could not expect a town presentation for they would surely be ostracised.

By four o'clock, the guests finally began to take their leave. By a quarter to five, everybody was gone but the Bennets. By some manipulation, Mrs Bennet had contrived to have their carriages be the last called and they seemed to be taking an inordinately long time in coming. Darcy, heartily wishing for his bed, thought she could give the matchmaking mamas of the  _ton_ a lesson in husband catching. 

Somehow, Bingley and Miss Bennet still seemed to be finding things to talk about, as they were sat a little apart from the rest of the party, their heads bent together in private conversation. Darcy wondered that nearly the entirety of the ball had somehow not been enough and what on earth any two people could find to speak of for so long. Apart from them, only Mr Collins seemed to have any inclination to speak, and this he did almost endlessly whether anybody replied to him or not. Mrs Bennet made some attempt to begin one or two subjects but was so firmly rebuffed by Caroline and Louisa that she eventually fell silent, and the only time Charles' sisters opened their mouths after that was to complain pointedly of how fatigued they were. Miss Lydia Bennet occasionally joined them, yawning violently and exclaiming, “Lord how tired I am!” at semi-regular intervals. Miss Mary and Miss Catherine were too tired for even that, and Mr Bennet, alone of everyone there, seemed to be enjoying himself, his eyes half-lidded in amused observation like a man viewing a farce put on for his sole entertainment. Elizabeth was also silent, but in her pale tired face Darcy saw nothing but the continuation of the mortification that had so plagued her throughout the evening, and with some idea of providing her with silent support, he remained where he was, seated in a chair near the sofa on which she sat and wishing he was able to claim the vacant seat at her side.

At long last, their carriages were announced, and with the last of the civilities issued, the Bennets were finally gone. The moment the door was closed at their backs, Caroline and Louisa gave vent to their lacerated feelings. Darcy, feeling as though he should be agreeing with them, did so by expressing his grave disapproval of the family in general. Bingley, too tired to argue and still under the influence of Jane, pretended deafness. After allowing his sisters and his friend to go on for half a minute to their hearts content, he finally broke up the discussion by bidding them all goodnight, and his departure set the example for them all. They all went upstairs together and said goodnight at their doors. Darcy, who had told his valet not to wait up, undressed himself and gave himself a rudimentary wash with the basin of tepid water he found waiting for him in his room. Then hardly taking the time to pass the warming pan over the chill sheets, he collapsed into his pillows, only just managing to drag the blankets over himself before sleep claimed him. 

And when he would wake again at eleven o'clock the next morning, he would remember that his last thought before he slept was:  _I shall never see her again._


	25. Vingt-cinq

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sorry!! I'm back now.

It was with considerably diversity of feeling that the household at Netherfield saw their guests off the following morning. Caroline, as successful hostess, with triumph; Louisa, already missing the added entertainment, with regret; Hurst, appearing with some reluctance, with indifference; Darcy, who's appetite for society was meagre at best, with relief; and Charles, who was to follow them to town within an hour or two, with the uncomplicated pleasure of one who was parting with friends after a pleasant time and who knew he would very soon see them again.

At last, only Laurence Trenton remained, and as he intended to make the trip into town with Charles, he was invited into the morning parlour with the family while Charles hurried off to see to his arrangements. The ladies, not entirely immune to this gentleman's charm, offered to entertain him with the pianoforte or the harp, but as Mr Trenton, with the best will in the world, could not be said to be of a musical inclination, he protested that as he had quite unexpectedly thrust himself onto them for the next hour or two they mustn't take the trouble of bothering with him and that he was perfectly capable of entertaining himself until Charles had managed to organise himself sufficiently for the journey.

“I shouldn't think it will take very long,” he assured them all. “It's only a short stay, after all. It shouldn't surprise me if he is back sooner than he intended and with a pretty new ring in his coat pocket no less.” And thinking this very amusing, he laughed goodnaturedly at the picture of his friend shopping for an engagement bauble before retiring to that morning's newspaper, oblivious to the grim looks of his audience.

“As to that,” Caroline said after some moments of silence, “It is by no means a settled thing.”

Mr Trenton, realising he had spoken out of turn, looked embarrassed. “Naturally not,” he said. “I ought not to have said-- had thought he might had told you, after all. Family and all.” He trickled off ineffectually.

Darcy, feeling that a firmer hand was needed with this young cockscomb, said rather grimly, “There is no formal engagement.”

“Well no, but you know Charles mentioned--”

“I believe the lady has not spoken. It would not do to cause talk while her future remains unsettled. I believe she is much sought after in the neighbourhood and it would be unfortunate to presume, when such presumption can only damage her reputation, until she herself has spoken.”

Flushing vividly at this rebuke from a gentleman so much looked up to by his friend, Mr Trenton could only stutter an apology and assure Darcy that he would not speak of it again until it was all settled, but as it was quite obvious he considered this only a matter of time, Darcy could not feel as though he had scored a point with the younger man. However, if he had been privy to the conversation later exchanged by the two friends as they bowled along to London in Trenton's travelling carriage, he would have felt some vindication.

“Did not I tell you she was an angel?” Charles said rather rapturously after they had been on the road some half an hour. “You danced with her, did you not?”

“I did, and dined with you both as well though I'm not surprised you don't seem to remember, as you spent the entire time staring at her and ignoring everyone else.”

Charles blushed and laughed. “I feel a perfect fool around her, Laurie.”

“You act it, too,” Laurence said with a grin. “No, no, I shall have my pound of flesh! I have seen you in a passion a dozen times at least and over some of the most questionable characters. Really, Charles, Miss Margaret Thurlow! She's thirty if she's a day and has ten cats at least, including that monstrous striped thing she leads about on a leash like a dog!”

“You shan't say a bad word to me about Miss Thurlow. I own that I was perhaps carried away-- though you cannot deny she is a handsome woman. But no, she was everything kind and hardly laughed at all when I proposed to her.”

“I assure you, I laughed enough for the whole of London.”

“Which just goes to prove you haven't the delicacy of mind that she has. But be serious, Laurie, and tell me what you think of Jane.”

“I think she is lovely, Charles, and not unworthy of you. But...” And here he hesitated.

“You'd best say it and get it over with. I can imagine what you wish to say.”

“Well alright, but remember you bid me tell you when you are livid and throw me out of my own coach to walk the twenty miles to town.”

“No, no! I shan't be. You wish to know why Jane is different from the others.”

Laurence, abashed, nodded. “Not that I do not think you would suit admirably, but you know Charles, you do fall in love rather often.”

“I know I do,” Charles said. “And I wish to God I had not, for I know it is all my own fault when my friend's must then ask me just what you do. And really, I do not know why Jane Bennet is so different, only that she is.”

“She is very beautiful, of course.”

“She is, but she's more than that, you know. She is kind and good and very funny when she wishes to be and terribly clever under all those manners! Much too clever for me, perhaps, but I shan't let it stand in my way! It would be reassuring I suppose if I could tell you just what it is about her...but I admit I cannot. She is Jane and with her I am Charles and that is an end of it.”

“Then I am pleased for you. Only—forgive me—are you certain she feels the same way?”

Charles looked momentarily stunned by this. “I have never been more certain,” he said decisively.

“I only ask because she is quite the most beautiful woman in the neighbourhood. And though her family is not wealthy, there can be no doubt that there was marked interest in her among the neighbouring men. And she did seem to be on good terms with many of them.”

“How should she not be? She grew up in that place and I imagine alongside many of those same gentlemen.” There was a moment's hesitation and then Charles said in an offhand sort of way, “Did you notice a gentleman in particular perhaps?”

“Oh! No, no one but you. It is only something I heard said, but perhaps I misunderstood.”

“I know gossip in neighbourhoods such as this, in such confined society--”

“Oh, it was nothing like that. It was something your Mr Darcy said before we left, when you were getting ready to leave. He said...well, I hardly know what he said to tell the truth! It was nothing very much to the point, only that it would not do to cause any gossip to spread in the neighbourhood until the lady herself had made her choice. I thought perhaps he knew of another gentleman-- but if you yourself are not aware of any other attachments it is probable he was only speaking in general terms, for I know I should not have spoken as I did, for I had assumed your family to know how matters stood with you and Miss Bennet and spoke rather rashly.”

“It is of no account. I have not told them in plain terms but I have left little doubt in their minds what I intend to do! Caroline and Louisa have already taken me to task for my imprudence! Darcy--” He paused. “Well, I cannot confess to understanding what Darcy might mean by his speech. Perhaps you are right and it is just caution on his part for Jane's reputation.”

Laurence, feeling as though he had once more spoken more than he should, was eager to agree. “I feel certain it is so,” he said decisively, and thereafter tried to change to subject to the horse he wished to purchase at Tattersall's, but something in the mood had shifted and it was a largely silent carriage that arrived in town some little while later to disgorge a rather subdued Charles on the doorstep of the Hurst's Grosvenor Street house.

For Mr Darcy, the night's sleep had brought wisdom, or perhaps hesitance. What had seemed entirely reasonable the night before seemed instead sordid by the clear light of day, and although he was still convinced that something ought to be done to extract Charles from the webbing cast by Mrs Bennet and her too-assured eldest daughter, he was no longer certain that it ought to be him doing it.

But several items, drifting about his subconscious, failed to make surface ripples in the turbulence of his thoughts. Among them was the fact that his failure to secure his second dance with Elizabeth Bennet had left him feeling vaguely cheated and he was no longer so certain he wished to depart the area until that promise to himself had been fulfilled. As he was far from willing to allow this idea to bubble forth into something remotely tangible, he was instead left only with the uneasy feeling that he had forgotten something important and that given a day or a week of unharried leisure he might eventually drag it forth from the depths of his memory. As of now, it was little more than a cast line, nearly invisible on the surface of his thoughts.

As such, as soon as Charles and Laurence Trenton had left for London a little after two o'clock, he found himself spending the hours preceding dinner avoiding Caroline and Louisa as they not very subtly attempted to hunt him down. He knew perfectly well what they wished to tell him and what they would expect him to do about it, and while he could not in all justice blame them, he found he was not quite ready to yield. His comments to Laurence Trenton in the parlour that morning had been planted with some hope of dispensing with his duty without having to take any more drastic action, but he knew that it would not do and that neither of Charles' sister would accept it as a substitute for more affirmative action. So instead of nursing his head and spending a quiet day recovering from the exigencies of the previous evening's entertainment, he spent an uncomfortable day hurriedly leaving rooms only moments before one or the other of the sisters would enter them and dodging the pointed signals of several footmen who had been recruited to the chase.

By the time they sat down for dinner, he was so much exhausted by this activity that he was fully prepared to begin the subject himself. But the constant attendance of butler and footmen meant conversation was kept impersonal, and after the cheese and fruit had been cleared from the table and the ladies removed themselves, it was only his good breeding that kept him seated while Hurst drank glass after glass of port, as though some unconscious feeling had warned him he was running out of opportunities to take advantage of his brother-by-marriage's superior cellar.

Finally, after what felt like several interminable hours, Hurst seemed to recall that Charles was not there and that it was up to him to break up their twosome, and he rose to his feet with obvious reluctance, saying that the tea tray was bound to have arrived by now.

And so it proved to be, the gentlemen entering the room almost as Nicholls was leaving it, and so when Darcy, preceded by Hurst, closed the drawing room door behind him, it was to find both ladies glaring at him with considerable feeling.

As his own feelings were considerably lacerated, he refused to be drawn by them, instead accepting his cup and seating himself just far enough away from them to provide some bulwark against their conversation, but this could not be expected to last. Two minutes after Hurst had settled himself on the sofa by the window and the first faint sounds of his slumber had penetrated from the cushions, Caroline and Louisa both rose to their feet and seated themselves determinedly in the uncomfortable chairs that provided the only adjacent seating to his position.

For a moment they all stared at one other: Louisa troubled; Caroline determined; Darcy grim. Louisa, rather unexpectedly, spoke first.

“Mr Darcy, you must be wondering what it is we wish to speak to you about.”

Caroline, equally unexpectedly, snorted. As this was the first time Darcy had ever seen her displeased with him, he observed this with something akin to fascination.

“I believe Mr Darcy is fully aware of what we wish to speak of. He told me so himself last night. However, it seems the gentleman has suffered a change of heart, a change, I have no doubt, brought upon by a pair of _fine eyes._ ”

It was this pointed reference to Elizabeth, suddenly far too near to breaking the surface of his unconscious thoughts, that finally forced Darcy to straighten in his chair and grimace uncomfortably.

“I admit to some feelings of trepidation. I am by no means certain it is my place to interfere, and it is not known positively whether or not Charles means to propose Miss Bennet. Let us be frank, ladies: your brother has fallen in and out of love a dozen times these last two years.”

“Of course he has,” Louisa said. “And it is due to your advice and friendship that he is not now married to any of them.”

Caroline leaned forward in eager agreement. “How can you say it is not your place, Mr Darcy? You who have stood in support of my poor brother these many years? You have saved him from a dozen imprudent marriages in the past. Why now are you so reluctant to help him?”

And that was the problem, of course. Darcy had interfered any number of times, making a point of guiding Charles through any number of shallow romantic shoals. And as of last night he was fully prepared to step in and do what was expected of him. So what had changed? Why this morning was he so reluctant to do so?

_Because you don't want to leave._

Of course. George Wickham was here still, walking softly while Darcy remained in the neighbourhood, but he knew the moment he was gone there would be no limit to Wickham's imaginings, nothing to stop the spread of what tales he chose to tell.

_And so what? What does it matter what this little corner of Hertfordshire, populated by country squires and cits, should think of you when you are gone?_

It didn't matter. Of course. Why should it matter?

Logic, reason, did not provide an answer, but he knew, with that same niggling feeling of having forgotten something important, that it must.

“You are correct, of course,” he said. “We must act. It is for Charles' sake.”

“For Charles,” Louisa echoed earnestly.

“We are counting on you,” Caroline said, and Darcy saw he was back in favour again by the way she leaned towards him in her chair, one hand reaching out as if to grasp his hand. As their chairs were too far apart, it was an empty gesture, but eloquent.

“There is nothing else to do but remove him from her vicinity,” he said and was surprised by the feeling of revolt engendered in his own breast at these words. “The surest cure for love is distance. He has given us the excuse by removing to town himself. We will ensure he remains there by joining him as soon as may be.”

“Will he not simply return on his own?” Louisa asked.

“Not if we give him reason not to,” Caroline said. “If he knew that Jane cared only for his fortune he would soon be dissuaded.”

“And how will we convince him of that?”

Both ladies looked at Darcy and Darcy felt a sudden weight descend on him that he had never felt before when faced with the prospect of detaching Charles from one of his professed  _amours._ He did not know where this reluctance came from. He did not want to know.

“Of course,” he said. “I will speak to him. He will understand.”

_Do you?_ his helpful brain supplied but he ignored it.


	26. Vingt-six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I'm (barely) alive!  
> Awkward ending to this one. Next chapter will be MUCH sooner (like next few days) so I won't leave you hanging for long. I'm on holiday next week for ten days or so and I'll be off in the wilds somewhere so no chapter during that time clearly. But I feel at this point my total slackery is to be expected so...

It was not to be expected that the inhabitants of Netherfield Hall could thereafter spend a composed or restful night.

Darcy, beset by uncertainties and that continued feeling of something important having been neglected, slept only fitfully and was beset by strange dreams in which he sought the empty halls of Pemberley for someone who managed to just turn the corner or disappear behind a closing door moments before he could reach them. In another dream he was dancing with Elizabeth, but when he looked up after a turn she had morphed into George Wickham while Georgiana watched him accusingly from the corner of a room crowded with elegantly dressed men and women who all seemed to be Edwin Robinson.

Neither Caroline nor Louisa dreamed, but they did not sleep well either, spending a great deal of the night inspecting their hangings and wondering, not for the first time in their lives, if perhaps they were testing the eager amiability of their brother a little too far.

Hurst did not sleep well either and his dreams were nearly as fitful as Darcy's, but it can be assumed that this was the fault of the quantity of port he had drunk after dinner and little to do with the information he had been provided with by his wife that they were to depart for London the next morning. As he had little more to do than inform his valet of this fact, who had anyway already heard the news on the servant's grapevine, he did not suffer unduly for the information.

In the servants quarters there was an almost universal dismay. Those hired from the neighbourhood found themselves facing an uncertain future just as winter was beginning to tighten its grip on the country. Mr Jones, Netherfield's steward, who had come to vaguely depend on Mr Bingley's open-handedness in matters that were not strictly of any concern to him, felt a real regret as he mentally shelved several improvements to the tenant's cottages he had been hoping to make with that gentleman's unprejudiced largesse.

Darcy's personal servants, although facing no diminishments of income or usefulness, were equally distraught. Johnson, given almost no notice, spent most of the night having to pack, and in the stables, Thomas was shaking his head with dire predictions as he and the rest of the stableyard were roused several hours betimes, preparing the horses and the carriages. A groom was sent off at first light with a message for The Four Swans in Waltham Cross where the horses would be changed, and another for the household in Grosvenor Street to prepare for the entire party's unexpected return. Cattle were hired at the livery stable in Meryton for not only the Hurst's travelling carriage, but the extra carriages and wagons that would either go on ahead or very soon follow with the baggage and the servants.

Meanwhile, the travellers themselves, rising at their usual hour, convened in the breakfast parlour with heavy eyes and uncertain tempers. When Caroline was reminded with gentle admonition by her sister that she had not yet written to their friends in the neighbourhood to advise them of their departure, she quite unguardedly snapped back, but after some murmurings at all the trouble one had to go through just to make a journey of some four and twenty miles, she reluctantly settled down to write a rather lengthy note to Jane Bennet.

Darcy, watching her bent to this task, felt a sudden whimsical urge to send Robinson a note. But as he had nothing he wanted to say to this gentleman he dismissed the idea as the irrational product of a tired mind. Instead, he idly drank his coffee and imagined what Elizabeth's feelings would be when news of his departure eventually reached her. Surprise, he thought. Certainly disappointment. Would she sulk, as other young ladies were wont to do when thwarted? Go into a decline as Georgiana had done? He admitted he had not acted with caution but surely he had done nothing to make her expect a proposal. And surely pride alone would allow her to carry on without giving anyone else any idea of their brief flirtation.

Content with this, he allowed himself a second cup of coffee and another egg.

By half past eleven, breakfast had been eaten, Caroline's note had been written—which Darcy determinedly did not ask the contents of, despite distrusting the rather pleased glitter in that lady's eye as she folded it up and sealed it—and the family rose from the table for the last time. Something like giddy uncertainty flooded Darcy's mind, causing his heart to pound and giving him a sudden desire to laugh out loud. But he did not, repressing this hysteria and following the others to their rooms to change into travelling dress. This was soon done and at half past twelve, all preparations complete, they entered Darcy's travelling carriage and started on the road back to town.

*****

Charles was not at home to receive the message from the Netherfield groom when it arrived in Grosvenor Street that morning. Determined to complete his business and return to Netherfield with all possible haste, he had left the house at an unprecedented hour to spend several frustrating and fruitless hours with Mr Engel, his solicitor.

By noon he had had all he could of the matter and took himself off to his club for something to eat and there met Laurence Trenton and Daniel Chawley. He spent a convivial hour or two in their company relating his morning's toil, and at Trenton's suggestion, invited both men to accompany him to Rundell and Bridge's to pick out an engagement ring for his Jane.

There, all three men entered into the spirit of the thing, pointing out the gaudiest baubles on display and laughing at the idea of quiet, self-contained Jane Bennet sporting such a thing. But finally Charles spotted a small but vivid yellow diamond surrounded by pearls in a gold setting, the design of which was simple yet elegant, giving off the impression of a spring flower in bright bloom. Although Trenton and Chawley were both asked for their opinion, it was clear that Charles had made up his mind and there was nothing left for his friends to do but congratulate him on his good taste and assure him of Miss Bennet's approval.

The ring duly purchased, the friends parted, Trenton and Chawley to Gentleman Jackson's to keep an appointment, and Charles back to his solicitor's where, renewed by this interlude, he was able to find some compromise that he thought the other gentleman in the case might find acceptable. Mr Engel, promising to make the communication that same day, shook hands with Charles and promised he would send word as soon as he heard aught in return.

So it was with some degree of self-satisfaction that Charles returned to the house in Grosvenor Street, only to be greeted at the door by Davis with the news that the master and mistress awaited him in the small saloon, as well as Miss Bingley and Mr Darcy. It was clear what Davis, Louisa's very superior butler and who had been looking forward to a well-deserved holiday, thought of these impromptu goings on. But Bingley, to whom suspicion was not a natural state, although no less astonished than Davis, was considerably more inclined to be pleased.

Thus entering the small saloon, he greeted his relations and his friend with undisguised pleasure, only assuring himself that no emergency had brought them so hastily thus.

“Nay, for you see we are well,” Louisa assured him, accepting the salute to her cheek. “We only thought how much we miss town and all our friends here.”

If Charles was wondering why they had chosen now to return to town, when all their friends were very soon leaving it for their own estates and parties, he did not think to ask. Instead he admitted nothing but joy at seeing them all and immediately demanded they tell him of all the goings on he must have missed while he was away. As his own absence from the neighbourhood had been scarcely twenty-four hours longer than their own and they had seen nothing of the neighbours during that time, they could not answer him.

Undaunted, Charles assured them that the absence of news could only be taken as a positive, as anything of an alarming nature must surely have been instantly communicated, he then finally asked them whether their business could be completed by Saturday as he wished to depart by then.

The silence following this very simple inquiry for the first time caused a certain uneasiness to enter Charles' soul.

“That is, you do intend to return, do you not?” he asked.

“As to that,” Caroline said breezily, “It is by no means certain our business will be completed by then. I am in desperate need of a new evening gown, you know, and Mr Darcy made some mention of consulting his solicitor.”

Annoyed at having been pulled into Caroline's fabrications, Darcy sent her a cold glance. “You mistake, Miss Bingley. I believe I mentioned the matter of hiring a dresser for Miss Darcy.”

She flushed. “Of course, how silly of me to have misunderstood.”

“Absolutely corkbrained,” Charles agreed, but his tone was doubtful and his expression one of a man determined rather than convinced at being pleased. “I suppose you mean to remain here. I admit I had counted on your company until after Christmas, but I haven't any intention of forcing anyone into doing what they haven't the least wish to do. And after all, Caroline you may remain with Louisa and Rudy, and Darcy I imagine means to go to Rutherford's in a week or two for the hunting.”

Darcy, bowing his agreement, said, “I had understood that you had received an invitation as well, Charles.”

“Oh! Yes, I have. That is, I mean to go, you know, but I'm going back to Netherfield before then. I had hoped we might all travel north from Hertfordshire, but it is not such a very long time after all and I shall have plenty to do in the meantime.” Here, something that would have been deemed cunning in a less artless countenance now entered his expression. “In fact, it might be best that I go back on my own for these few days as I have some business I wish to see to and don't intend to be much at home.”

There was a silence as his sisters and his friend digested this. Darcy, seated somewhat aloof from the proceedings, was aware of the beseeching glance Caroline was sending him and he could hardly make up his mind whether to answer it or not. But in the end, frustration with his own vacillation of feeling had him rising to his feet and saying to Charles, “I am going to Brooks'. Will you come?”

Although Charles was accustomed the occasional bluntness of Darcy's manner, he was on his guard, and the severity with which this invitation was issued began to alarm him. He glanced around and saw the relief on his sisters' faces and the alarm turned into something colder.

It was on his tongue to give some excuse, but that Hurst rose to his feet then and announced how he would be happy to go even if Bingley did not, and the undisguised annoyance on Darcy's face made Charles take pity on him.

“Yes, why not,” he said, but hedging his bets added, “But I mean to dine at home.”

Darcy, making no demure at this, merely led them out of the room.

The procession to Brooks' was of an unusually silent nature. Darcy was too preoccupied with what he must say and Charles was taken up with apprehension at the prospect of hearing what he by now felt he did not wish to hear. Hurst, never very talkative, made no attempt to lighten the social path but walked on with the other gentlemen feeling that he would be very happy to get a beefsteak and some brandy in him as soon as they arrived.

The gentlemen were hailed upon their arrival by their disparate groups of friends, and although Darcy and Charles broke off after some few minutes of conversation, Hurst was carried off to the dining room by two or three of his compatriots where he was able to indulge his appetite for beefsteak.

Though neither Darcy nor Charles said a word, it was very much evident that it was Darcy who was in charge of this expedition. He led the way to the coffee room, and ensconcing them at a table set a little apart from the rest, sat down. Charles, following suit, wondered on what subject the inevitable lecture was going to be read to him this time, but immediately scolded himself for the uncharitable thought: Darcy was not in the habit of lecturing, merely pointing out some of the pitfalls of one's chosen path and depending on the good sense of his listener to follow through on his advice. And Charles, more aware even than his sisters just how far Darcy's protection had led them, was aware of a feeling of unstinting gratitude and affection and an acknowledgement that whatever heavy-handedness and tactlessness Darcy sometimes displayed, it was entirely a result of his inability to dissemble and his distaste for anything like slyness or deceit. Darcy knew more of the world than Charles did and was neither ill-natured nor impatient in the dispersal of that knowledge. In a man accustomed to duty, he saw the care of Charles Bingley and his small family as part of that duty. That it had grown into a very real friendship was almost beside the point.

As a result, Darcy had never before been hesitant in speaking his mind or in correcting any course of action that Charles embarked on. So it was with considerable apprehension that Charles now read hesitation in Darcy's demeanour, and even after their coffee had been delivered and drunk, Darcy, remained stubbornly mute and in the end it was Charles, unable to stand the suspense further, who was forced to bring the matter to the fore.

“I cannot tell you how surprised I was to find you all here, Darcy. What was it you said brought you all back to town again?”

Darcy, grimacing at this awkward introduction delivered with Charles' usual inability to carry off any type of subtle deceit, said wryly: “A dresser for Georgiana, apparently.”

A brief flash of humour lit Charles' eyes. “How daunting! And naturally, the thought of Miss Darcy's wardrobe immediately had you rushing posthaste back to town!”

“I do not pretend to understand your sister's reasoning for putting the idea forth, but no, that was certainly not what brought us here.”

“I confess myself shocked,” Charles said with a twinkling gravity.

Darcy, giving him a filthy look, said: “Yes, I can see how very shocked you are. Well, there is little point in putting it off. Your sisters expect it of me and I do not deny I expect it of myself, as well. You must know what I have to say for you will be among the first to admit that I have had occasion to say it many times before.”

“Darcy--”

“She is not worthy of you, Charles.”

There was a silence.

After a moment, Charles said: “I collect you speak of Miss Jane Bennet.”

“I do.”

Darcy, prepared for an argument, was relieved at Charles' resulting quiet and he wondered if his friend had already had some inkling of the truth. He wondered with a stab of irritation if all his hand-wringing to come to the point had been a waste of time.

They drank their coffee, still not speaking. Darcy, observing his friend across the table, tried to read the thoughts on his face but only came away with the impression that Charles was troubled. Not surprising, but it was not the half-defiance, half-relief that usually accompanied these talks and Darcy wondered belatedly if he had perhaps misjudged something. His own feelings were uncertain, which was unbalancing him. He relied on his judgment and on his reason, but the niggling irritation of instinct and unfamiliar emotion was making him second guess every reasonable and logical thought he had and, by extension, making him second guess Charles, as well.

When they had each drunk two cups of coffee, Charles finally looked up, his expression one of unusual gravity.

“I have bought a ring,” he said.

Darcy looked startled. “A new fashion for you.”

A glimmer of amusement crept into Charles' face. “Do you not approve? Let me show you and you can tell me how you think it will suit.” And saying so he took a velvet covered box from his coat pocket and slid it across the table.

Darcy, opening the box, stared at the delicate confection contained within. For a moment he did not understand. Surely this was a lady's ornament, with gold filigree encasing white pearls and a small but clear yellow diamond at its centre. It was clearly fashioned to resemble a flower in bloom and it succeeded with stunning admiration. It was beautiful and delicate and undoubtedly had proven to be exceedingly expensive. It was, in fact, a perfect match for Miss Jane Bennet.

“You have bought a ring,” Darcy said somewhat stupidly. In all of Charles' exploits he had never done so before and the feeling of unease swept over him, stronger than before.

“Do you think it will look well?” Charles said smilingly, and reached over to pluck it from its velvet sheath. He placed it on his smallest finger and flashed it at Darcy with a mocking flutter of his eyelashes.

“Idiot,” Darcy said, much more harshly than he meant to, but he could not find it in himself to be amused. Charles had bought a ring. He had never done so before.

Impulsively, he reached over and snatched the shining thing from Charles' finger and hid the damnable thing back inside its case. He snapped it shut and thrust the box away from him across the table as if it was a burning thing.

Charles, staring at him, did not pick it up.

“You do not like it?” he said and his voice was very quiet, so very unlike Charles Bingley that Darcy could not answer at once, his eyes fixed instead on the velvet thing between them with its unexpected innards. It felt like a betrayal and Darcy did not know why.

“It is a beautiful piece,” he finally said with forced composure. “I assume it is meant for Miss Bennet.”

“It is.”

“And--” he had to stop and swallow. “Have you asked her? Is she expecting your return?”

“I have not asked her. And I hope she is expecting my return.”

Something like relief filled Darcy. _He has not asked her yet._

“Will you let me speak plainly, Charles?”

There was the smallest hesitation before Charles said: “I should always wish that, Darcy.”

“You are committing a grave mistake.”

“You said: _'She is not worthy of you.'_ You meant Jane, of course. I knew but I could not quite believe...”

“No. You never can, though, Charles. You are very trusting, you know.”

Something bitter that was not a smile twisted Charles' lips. “You make it sound as though it were an accusation.”

“I do not mean to.”

“No, I don't suppose that you do. Will you tell me why-- what has made you think this? Of Jane? I do not yet say that you are right, but I should like to know.”

For the first time Darcy heard himself say: “I do not wish to give you pain.”

That bitterness again. Charles' eyes lifted and held Darcy's. “It has gone too far for that now.”


	27. Vingt-sept

Fitzwilliam Darcy was not by nature an unfeeling man. Raised by a steady and seemingly unending bevy of indulgent and affectionate servants—most importantly his own dear Nurse Tipton—who accorded him all the warmth and love that the eldest son of the house could expect, it did not occur to him to miss either his parents' love or their presence.

Of his mother, he was aware of her as an almost mythical figure, forever floating on the edges of delicate unhealth. When he saw her, it was for the proper few minutes a day to be shown off to company and exclaimed over as a healthy, handsome child. He was not permitted to touch the fine silk and muslin of her skirts with his clumsy infant hands, but he was expected to bow like the gentleman he was and offer her the proper filial salute to her pale, thin cheek.

When he was five, he gained his freedom from the nursery and Johnson the valet replaced Sally Tipton the nurse. Young Master Fitzwilliam, understanding this to be a Very Great Thing, was therefore bewildered when, upon being dressed in his new grown-up gentleman's suit for the very first time, ran up to the nursery to show his own excellent Tippy just how well he looked, only to find her already gone.

It was with some effort that Cook managed to console him with his favourite strawberry tarts, and Maggie Reynolds, who had come last year from Lambton to be maid, gave him a little wooden dog that her father had carved for him on her next half day, but it was all eclipsed by George Wickham, the steward's son, who came to show him that the stable cat had given birth to a litter overnight.

It was in some ways fortunate for Darcy that he had a young George Wickham in his life. Easy in manners even at the age of four, carelessly kind when it suited him to be so, he never offered the young master of the house any sort of deference or respect. Though younger than Darcy by a year, it was usually George Wickham, by sheer force of personality, that led their adventures and got them both into trouble. These ranged from swimming nude in the small ornamental lake during one of his mother's house parties, to making off with one of his father's hunters. It was only by the greatest of good fortunate that the horse had not been lamed or worse, nor Darcy himself taken up with a broken neck, but it earned him a very public lashing from Thomas with the entire stableyard looking on, and the humiliation of which had long outlasted the physical marks. George, learning of it later, was only ghoulishly disappointed that he had not been on hand to see it himself.

His father, who for so many years had been almost an invisible presence, appearing for Darcy's admiration only once or twice a year, began to figure more largely in his life soon after the adventure with the hunter. Lady Anne, who, after spending some eight years recovering from Darcy's birth, finally decided she was well enough to travel again. Her first jaunt was to Kent to visit her sister, and her second was to London where she thereafter remained, the consequence of which was that Darcy's father suddenly found that business kept him mostly at home.

It was a halcyon summer, the best in Darcy's memory. He was eight years old, almost nine, and he had a father and he had a George Wickham, both very good things to have, he thought. He felt as though some little thing that had been missing for quite a while had been found, though he was not able to fully articulate what it was. For eight years he had watched the servants who had raised him come and then go. He had come to rely on Johnson, but he was always aware that at any moment he too might be snatched away, called off to some other duty or another little boy who perhaps had more money, or who lived closer to his family in Kent or to London where there was more money to be made. Even Cook, indomitable, eternal Cook, had begun to talk more often and more longingly about the little cottage in Cornwall where her daughter lived and had five children with a husband off at sea.

But here was a father, someone that was his and only his. There were no other sisters or brothers to share him with, only servants and employees and George Wickham, but Darcy did not mind occasionally sharing with George Wickham, especially since George Wickham had his own father, too.

But as with any idyll, it could not be expected to last, and at the very end of that same August Mr Wickham, his father's steward, was caught in a heavy rain. Not in itself alarming, for what was rain in Derbyshire? Except that he had not been well lately, and that persistent cough from the bout of influenza that had swept the neighbourhood last winter... and the resultant infection reached his lungs and three days afterwards he was dead. Darcy, alone in his room that night and used to people disappearing on him, was hardly affected, though he had watched with something akin to fear as his father had wept and it would not be until the next day that he would come to realise how much of his life would change with this seemingly simple death.

He had gone to bed in August, thinking that life would carry on in just this way: summer days with his father and George, summer nights with just his father, learning to be a man and a gentleman. When he woke it was September and he was in a house of mourning.

Though the death of a steward should not rear such unreasonable change upon the house of employment, it was found that somehow it did. His father, though not necessarily a cheerful soul, had known happiness and had been content to make his son so, as well. But even the happiness was missing now, grief taking its place, and although Darcy tried to understand this, it had been too many years since Tippy had been sent away and he could not remember anymore how it felt.

Another change was that George came to live at Pemberley. He was given a room next door to Darcy's own and was to be included now in all of Darcy's lessons and activities. He was to learn his languages and his histories and his geography. He would share a tutor and a table and a valet and, it turned out, he would also share a father.

Darcy first became aware of this particular change when, not able to sleep one night due to the stuffiness of his room—for Johnson always had a fire lit starting on the first day of September, whatever the weather might happen to be—he had gone to open the window, and upon doing so he had heard the unmistakable sounds of George Wickham weeping from the open casement next door. Feeling considerable pity, he had left his room, bare feet cold on the creaking wooden boards, and gone as stealthily as he could the next room over where he opened the door and found in the pool of moonlight from the open window his own father sitting in a chair by George's bed and holding the stricken boy to his chest.

Darcy's feeling was one of relief, for he had acted on impulse in coming and had no real idea how he would make George feel better. But he knew that his father could and would, and so after a moment or two, watching them in the spill of light, he had retreated again, but it had been some time before he had been able to sleep.

It was not until a week later that he began to feel uneasy. One fine day of rare September sun, he had gone seeking his father with some idea of going for a ride. It had been ten days since they had last done something alone together. George, while certainly deserving, seemed always to be there, and while Darcy understood that this must sometimes be expected, he had begun to feel that it was possible for a good thing to be carried too far. After all, _he_ was to be the master of Pemberley one day. It was he who was the son of George Darcy, the grandson of the Earl of Matlock. He had begun his education but lingering in his mind were the promises of the summer: the rides around the park; the introductions to the tenants; the learning of the land; the first glimpse of a vast acreage and the industries and livelihoods built upon it. He had been promised and he did not understand where George Wickham fit into it any longer.

Upon arriving at his father's study, the footman at the door had stopped him, saying with some apology that Mr Darcy was not to be disturbed. This was not unusual in and of itself, but something in the manner of the footman alerted him, something a little like pity, and he had gone away slowly, kicking at the flagged floor and trying to think of a reason to linger. But it turned out not to be necessary. He had not yet reached the turn in the hall when his father's study opened and he turned eagerly only to be stopped by the sight of George Wickham leaving the room with his father right behind him, a soft look on his face and a hand on his shoulder. They went the other way, going left down the corridor and away from Darcy, but Darcy did not call after them nor hurry to catch up. He watched them, silent, and could feel only glad that they had not seen him.

It would be unfair to say that this state of affairs continued indefinitely. Grief lessened, remembrance faded, and eventually some of the old pattern reasserted itself. But Darcy did not forget, and something in him had begun to be wary of George Wickham's claims on him, and one afternoon, when Darcy had spent a particularly gruelling day with his tutor while George had been excused on account of a slight cough and had consequently been in a position to eat all the apple tarts that Cook had made especially, Darcy had taken his complaint to his father.

George Darcy listened to his son's charges with sympathy and some amusement, allowing him to discharge all the minor disappointments of a young life in several long minutes of tearful rage. And when he was done, he had beckoned to Darcy and put both his hands on his son's heaving shoulders.

“Fitzwilliam, my dear boy. Does it not occur to you that you may have Cook make you apple tarts almost whenever you wish? But for George Wickham, he is allowed only to have them when you or I have ordered them to be made.”

For Darcy—who had never had to ask for or order anything in his life, having had it already done for him before he was aware of its need at all—this was a new revelation. He stopped crying and stared at his father with something approaching skepticism.

“But if I ask for apple tarts, then why must I let George have any?”

“Because firstly he is a guest, and secondly he is not your equal. You and I were born with privileges that he will never have and as such it is our duty to ensure that we use those privileges wisely and to the betterment of those who depend on us. They cannot help themselves, but we may help them, and so we do.”

“But what if I don't want to.”

George Darcy had lowered his head and caught his son's gaze with his own grave and earnest stare and had simply said: “It is your duty. You must.”

*****

It was twenty years later, but the lessons of childhood, learnt at the knee of an adored parent, was a difficult thing to shake.

Seated in the coffee room at Brooks' with Charles Bingley across the table from him, looking simultaneously brave and betrayed, Darcy repeated those words of his father from so long ago. So often, particularly in the five years since his father had died, they had become the only thing that guided him and kept him moving forward.

_It is your duty. You must._

He said them to himself now and with their repetition thrust aside that niggling doubt, the unfamiliar emotion crowding out the sense in his head. He knew this was best. He had seen this a dozen times before, women like vultures preying upon the open and too-generous nature of a man who had in turn shown Darcy nothing but openness and generosity. He did not enjoy this. He wished he did not have to do it. But it was his duty—to his friend; to himself. It was his duty and he must.

“Will you tell me, Charles, if you have noted any particular affection or concern Miss Bennet has shown you? I know you have spent a great deal of time in her company and in speaking to her, but has she shown you any affection that she has not shown to every other man of her acquaintance?”

Charles stared at him. “You must surely jest. We have spoken-- oh for hours! She has shown me a singular attention above that of other men, you must have seen it!”

“I saw a young woman with little money and an intolerable family in a small neighbourhood making considerable effort to attach the most eligible gentleman to ever come her way.”

“And so she did attach me! You must be mad to think this!”

He had risen to his feet at this, his voice growing loud with his anger. Several gentlemen who had come in after them were looking round now, staring at them with disapproval. Darcy, recalling the effort it had taken to convince the members to admit Charles and Hurst to their ranks, gripped his arm in an insistent hand and with an intent stare compelled him once again to be seated. Charles did so, but he was pale with anger and he would not meet Darcy's eye. As if only at that moment noticing the hand on him, he pulled his arm away with an angry jerk.

“I am not mad, Charles. I wish to God you had not come to care so much. It is my fault, mine, for not seeing sooner how deeply you were affected. But I did not wish to see. I wished to stay for my own reasons and I neglected you and every precept of duty and friendship and honour. I wish to God we had not stayed.”

Charles stared at him as though he was a stranger, and indeed Darcy nearly felt as though he was one. He did not recognise his own voice, his own words. This was not how these conversations were meant to happen. Always, always he had taken Charles aside, told him the lady was attracted only to his fortune, and Charles would look dismayed and upset and after a very little time would be resigned. The entire thing done in less than half an hour with little display of emotion on Charles' side and absolutely none on Darcy's. But this, this anger from Charles, this feeling as though his own heart had cracked inside him, Darcy did not understand and did not know how to react to. He had had a plan, the same plan he always had, and it was not working and he did not know why.

Charles said: “You came away because you knew I was attached. Because you knew I would ask her to marry me.”

“Yes. I did not know what else to do.”  _It is what I have always done and it has always worked before._

“Did you not think that I would be able to handle my own affairs? That perhaps I would know better than you what was best for Jane and me?”

Darcy, staring at him, could not think how to answer this except with the truth: “But I have always known what was best for you.”

A silence fell, so complete, Darcy could not have broken it even if he knew how. And after what felt like several minutes by the rapid beating of his heart, Charles rose to his feet and without a word, without a glance, walked from the room and did not look back.


	28. Vingt-huit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey. I'm back.

It would be forgivable to presume that a young gentleman in possession of a handsome proportion of wealth, an easy if impetuous temper, and a pleasant and open manner would not find it difficult, in Charles' place, to throw caution to the wind and with nary a backward glance board the next coach to Heaven's knew where and spend a pleasant six weeks fishing in some unknown corner of Scotland with the pleasurable knowledge that all his friends and acquaintance would be back at home, slowly being driven frantic by his sudden disappearance from their circle.

It would be easy to imagine that Charles, in a bewildered study of confusion, quickly sliding into heartbreak and liberally tinged with resentment against all his closest friends and family, spent half an hour talking himself into just this scenario as he furiously paced London's well-known streets without once looking up from the pavement and thereby unintentionally cutting several friends and half a dozen acquaintances.

It would be forgivable for those of lesser stature to assume that a young gentleman in Charles' circumstances to be in the best possible position to abandon all his friends and dependants for a period of several weeks without a word of comfort or instruction to any of them. But in truth the reality is far otherwise. No sooner would the first echoes of that salmon ravaged river in Scotland rush with thrilling invitation through his imagination, then every remembrance of duty and honour would undoubtedly intrude themselves once more upon his notice and any thought of escaping the dreary confines of ordinary life—leaving his employees, his dependants, and his business all wondering with impotent regret and frustration what unforgivable thing they had done to bring this regrettable circumstance to pass, to drive so good and understanding a young gentlemen to such extremes and how in the future they might improve themselves to his view—would be quickly stamped out of existence and sweet order and self-recrimination quickly restored.

But in any event, what Charles' true feelings on the circumstances were it was impossible to know, for he did not come home that night in order to be asked.

As this was not entirely unusual, especially when it was known that Laurence Trenton was in town, his relations showed no undue alarm and were able to greet him with tolerable composure when he walked into the house on Grosvenor Street again the next day shortly after eleven just as they were rising from the breakfast table. Louisa showed a brief sisterly concern for the state of his yesterday's clothes, but Caroline, the more pragmatic of the two, only sniffed and said he smelled of beer and horse and if he would be so kind as to bathe before joining them in the morning room she would be grateful. His brother-in-law only sniffed at him and said vaguely, "So that's the way of it," before wandering into the library for a postprandial snooze.

An hour later found the three siblings once again together in the morning room, Caroline and Louisa discussing their plans for the day and Charles once more subdued into civility by a hot bath and his valet. It was not unnatural that Caroline and Louisa should wonder about that interview with Darcy the afternoon before, but Charles, while not suffering from any obvious signs of distemper, was rather subdued. He answered their questions in a pleasant if distracted manner and spent as much time poking idly at the logs in the fireplace as he did frowning thoughtfully into it.

Caroline and Louisa, as affectionate sisters, had seen Charles through enough interventions and broken hearts to understand that something was amiss. In the ordinary way, Charles had reacted uncomfortably if predictably when suffering from the raptures of disappointed love. The first two days after one of his unsuitable affairs had been put an end to with a quiet word from themselves or—as he had gotten older and less inclined to take advice from a mere sister—from Darcy, Charles tended towards a noisy form of brooding that had him wandering restlessly from room to room, ordering unlikely things from the servants and then forgetting he had asked for them, starting several improving works of literature only to abandon them after half a dozen pages had been got through, and on one occasion actually losing his temper and slightly raising his voice when his valet had brought him a coat he didn't like.

This last had resulted in several hours of self-excoriation and a rise in pay for the unoffended but grateful Pool and an entrance into the annals of servant's hall gossip that to this day was still spoken of with something of the air of the legendary. Ever since, Agnes the upstairs maid had made a point of tiptoeing ostentatiously about her duties whenever it was known that Mr Bingley had had to be taken aside by that lovely Mr Darcy, and occasionally going into hysterics if something happened to disrupt the household, such as a broken dish or a slight tear in Miss Bingley's favourite shawl.

Mr Darcy, who was a prime favourite among the staff at Grosvenor Street for his generous tips and his ability to rein in Miss Bingley's tendency to berate the servants in public, was treated with great solicitousness during these times as well. He was _Quality_ , keeping a proper distance but always polite and never losing his temper with the servants, even when Gladys had tripped on that raggedy looking cat that Miss Stanhope insisted on bringing everywhere with her and dumping the entire contents of a fully loaded tea tray directly onto his lap. Miss Bingley had been in a real tizzy over that but Mr Darcy had stepped in and without even looking at her had silenced her with a biting comment to Miss Stanhope about her aggravating tendency to bring innocent serving girls to tears. He had then lavishly tipped Gladys in front of Miss Bingley's very nose with the added remark that hysterics were not becoming in a lady's morning room and that if Gladys could just send a footman to call up a hansom he would be grateful and as the incident could hardly be construed to be her fault he was sure that no more would be said of it by anyone.

As such, when Mr Darcy appeared at the door some ten minutes after twelve o'clock, he was greeted with such a degree of solicitousness by the footman stationed there that he almost felt alarmed. Upon entering the morning room he was reassured however to see its inhabitants in full possession of their health, and after greeting Caroline and Louisa, went at once to Bingley, who was still standing beside the fire and apart from stiffening somewhat had given no further reaction to his friend's arrival.

Darcy, showing an uncharacteristic hesitation that was immediately noticed by the sisters and the footman, just then passing out of the room and consequently adding considerable fodder to the gossip making the rounds of the household staff, approached Charles with a decided squaring of his shoulders.

“Charles,” he said. “I was hoping you would be home. I thought we might take your chestnuts out.”

Strangely, Bingley flushed and his gaze on the fire rather intensified. “The chestnuts? No. That is to say--no, I couldn't, really,” he stammered.

Darcy, who had been hoping the reference to this small jest between them might soften his friend enough to draw him out from under his sisters' eyes—and away from their ears—found himself almost violently taken aback by this refusal. He had come with some hope of reestablishing an understanding between them, to—if necessary—apologise for yesterday's conversation and try in some way to explain himself and allow Bingley in turn to explain. Darcy was not accustomed to either explaining himself or necessitating explanations from others. He believed that actions were the true measure of a character and that their results should be left to speak for themselves. So far, the result of seeing Bingley free from the grasping manipulations of every fortune hunting female from Inverness to Eastbourne had been its own explanation. He remembered another Jane with which Bingley had entangled himself barely six months before and recalled with unabated indignation her attempt at extorting fifty thousand pounds from him in exchange for his friend's release from the engagement. It had not come to that, fortune favouring them to allow Bingley himself to walk in on the jade with her legs spread for the upper footman. That Jane Bennet was presenting them with a different sort of problem he was long past the point of attempting to deny.

For Darcy, the evening and subsequent night after Bingley had precipitately abandoned him in the coffee room at Brooks', had been one of long reflection. He had been forced to confront the fact that Jane Bennet would not be so easily expunged from Bingley's consciousness as those before her had been. For whatever reason, Bingley seemed to be truly attached to the placid insipidity of the girl, something which Darcy could not comprehend. Had it been her sister Elizabeth he would have more readily understood and perhaps even approved, for he could not imagine Elizabeth Bennet allowing herself to be sold to the highest bidder even to escape the complaints of her atrocious mother, and he could not imagine Mr Bennet bringing any sort of pressure to bear on what was clearly the favourite of his offspring. And the very fact that she had not succumbed to the ill-concealed pining of Edwin Robinson, without doubt the greatest catch in the neighbourhood and undoubtedly more attractive to a girl of her temperament than Bingley in terms of situation, fortune, and intelligence, made him think she was likely either one of those odd romantic females, ready to lay herself down in sacrifice to an emotion that probably didn't exist, or else one of those atrocious modern types of girls who were determined to spinster themselves for the sake of proving some obscure point to the general world of males.

_Or,_ a snide little voice in his head murmured,  _She is waiting for a bigger catch than either of them._

No. He pushed the voice away. She was not like that. Most likely she was of the romantic class of female and would not marry without that most popular of delusions, love. It would fit with her bright and passionate nature, he thought.

But Charles had not settled on Elizabeth Bennet. He had decided on Jane and Jane, Darcy knew, had neither the strength of mind nor the character to resist the machinations of an avaristic mother. The fact that Charles himself was so enamoured of her only redoubled his resolve to see them parted. He would not watch his friend embark on so unequal a marriage, where neither fortune nor feeling could offer the hope of lasting matrimonial satisfaction.

But it was difficult to remember this resolve in the face of Bingley's flat refusal. He was unused to being refused by Bingley and found the experience did not sit well with him. He felt dismay and an uncomfortable absence of his usual confidence. It was Bingley's role in their friendship to smooth the social way. He hadn't realised how much he had come to depend on Charles fulfilling that role for him until he was suddenly without it and attempting to practice his own considerably lacking social wiles on the man himself. He wasn't sure if he was more annoyed or dismayed.

“Come to Manton's with me, then. We are going to Rutherford's in a week or two, it would not be a bad thing to let off a few practice shots before then.” A sudden alarming thought hit him. “Unless of course you are going to Worscht's instead. I believe he sent you an invitation.”

Apollo Worscht was a young wastrel as far as Darcy was concerned but he knew Bingley, always eager to enjoy himself, often allowed himself to join the less alarming of that particular crowd's exploits. It was anybody's guess what they might get up to when left without any sort of moderating influence during a house party at Worscht's hunting box, but that sort of revel routing was likely just what Charles needed to get over Jane Bennet.

“Worscht's?” Charles said, looking at Darcy for the first time with some surprise. “I had rather thought to accept Rutherford's invitation to Flinders. That way, you know, Caroline might come with me. I know she doesn't like Augusta Hatcher and Louisa and Rudy are set to go to Major Hatcher's house in Oxford for several weeks before Christmas.”

Darcy felt himself smiling in relief in spite of himself. If Charles was consenting to spend two weeks in the same house as himself the situation could not be as dire as he had thought. Pressing his luck, he said, “Manton's then? We will stop at Matlock House for my duelling pistols.”

“In case we have need of them at Flinders?” Bingley said with a grin that was very nearly normal. “In that case, we will go.” And then with lowered voice and a cautious glance towards where his sisters were attempting to eavesdrop from the other end of the room: “I must stay in practice for the next time we have an argument.” He grinned and Darcy, pretending that he did not see the slightly promissory edge to it, grinned back.


	29. Vingt-neuf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly when I said I was back I lied.
> 
> Thought I had this story figured out but then when I actually came to writing it down it just...didn't work. Thus, some replotting. Also, in spite of being only marginally employed it's amazing how much stuff one finds to do with ones life?? Currently taking two online classes and attempting a new business venture as well as contemplating the writing and illustrating of a children's book, plus the usual fun stuff of forcing oneself to get off the couch to exercise occasionally. Ugh. All that just to let you know that I didn't mean to abandon you all and that I haven't forgotten about this story! It WILL be finished, it just might take a bit longer than anticipated.

A fortnight passed with very little to distinguish it from so many other fortnights. Darcy, Caroline, and Louisa all kept a wary eye on Charles, and although each privately believed something to be amiss, not one of them could fix on a particular reason that would allow them to tax Charles with their suspicions.

Darcy became something of a fixture at the Grosvenor Street house, often appearing at breakfast and whisking a willing Charles away for a collection of reassuringly familiar activities. Although the Season had wound down as people disappeared to country parties and estates, there were enough entertainments that morning visits still needed to be paid and sisters still occasionally needed to be escorted. Tailors needed to be visited, hair needed to be cut, feet re-shod, and hats purchased. There were drives into the country, look-ins at Tattersall's, one spectacular mill, and the endless business of who did what and with whom. There were evenings at the clubs and gaming houses, mornings at Manton's for shooting and Angelo's for fencing. Gentleman Jackson discovered a new aptitude in Charles and went so far as to honour him with a personal lesson, an event that left Charles so flushed with grateful pleasure that it seemed to burn down the final barrier that had been holding him aloof from Darcy and restored their friendship to its accustomed intimate footing. In consequence of this, both Caroline and Louisa breathed a sigh of relief and went back to their own amusements with the comfortable belief that the final hurdle in the unfortunate history of Jane Bennet had been successfully jumped.

Darcy, of a less hopeful nature and in possession of a keener and less optimistic intellect, was not so certain. It had been borne in upon him, through two weeks of breakfasts, that Charles was waiting for a letter.

What this letter was, he did not know. He could not at first imagine that even Jane Bennet would so far forget her upbringing as to write a letter to a gentleman. And Charles, as impetuous and occasionally impatient of convention as he sometimes was, would never go so far beyond what was pleasing as that.

And yet...

As the days passed and Darcy sat watching him over his eggs and kipper, he could not deny the bright anticipation on his friend's face every time the butler came in with the letters, nor the sudden and almost absurd dropping of his countenance upon the discovery that whatever he was hoping for was not there. As the days passed and Charles' reaction became more and more pronounced, Darcy became as obsessed with the theoretical letter as Charles himself and there was scarcely a morning he did not arrive in Grosvenor Street, his fast unbroken and the letters yet undelivered, to take his place beside Charles at the Hurst's willing table. He became convinced, through fourteen breakfasts at his side, that Charles was expecting some word from Jane Bennet and that somehow, in spite of his every effort, the two lovers had somehow managed to agree to some sort of clandestine correspondence.

Then two days before they were meant to leave for Flinders, the letter finally came.

It was a particularly inauspicious morning, the sky leaden and promising a storm. The first ominous rolls of thunder could be heard, rumbling across the downs and chasing the first scattering of rain across London's grey roofs. The rest of the household was still abed and Darcy, feeling heavy-eyed after a night at Cribb's Parlour with Charles and Lawrence Trenton, hardly bothered to look up from his coffee when the post was brought in. However, as it formed his entire reason for being there, he pushed himself to expend the effort and so was in time to see the quick frown on his friend's face as he picked one letter from out the stack before him and frown. It was not the complete devastation that ordinarily overtook his countenance upon realisation that the cherished note, whatever it was, had not arrived, but Darcy supposed even Charles must eventually learn to muffle his emotions.

So it was as he was listlessly stirring a second lump of sugar into his coffee with the vague feeling that he probably deserved it, when the clatter of a cup being knocked over and the subsequent pool of thick, dark liquid creeping its way to his unblemished cuff, made Darcy look up sharply once more and see the look of heartfelt relief and unrestrained joy overcoming his friend's features as his eyes, wide and eager, absorbed the scrawl on the page before him. Darcy, as accustomed as he was to Charles' unfettered grins and the casual and uncomplicated pleasure with which he passed through life, thought he had never seen his friend happy before this.

A dozen questions immediately entered Darcy's mind. Who had written, and why had Charles frowned upon first receiving it? If it was truly from Jane Bennet, would not the handwriting have made it clear? And if the handwriting did not, would not the postage give some indication from whence the letter had come? Or perhaps this was an entirely different letter from the one expected, though the prospect of two such anticipated letters seemed almost absurd.

An entirely unfamiliar feeling of curiosity entered Darcy's soul and it took him several minutes to realise he was glaring fiercely at the letter in his friend's hand as if he could see through it to the words on the other side and it was only due to Charles' distraction that it went entirely unnoticed. Only when the door opened to admit the butler did Darcy recollect himself and look blushingly away, and when Davis approached to inform Mr Bingley that there was A Person at the door asking for him, and that he had been shown into the small saloon, the beginnings of a terrible plan suddenly occurred to Darcy.

“Who is it, Davis?” Charles asked, his attention only reluctantly wrested from the sheet in his hand.

“He did not say, sir. Only that he had been sent and was expected.”

Bingley, his attention fully caught now, frowned in puzzlement. “How very mysterious! I suppose I had better see the gentleman.”

Davis cleared his throat. “Not quite a gentleman, I think, sir. Perhaps gentleman _ly_ would be more apt.”

Bingley's brow immediately cleared and oddly, a delicate flush rose to his face. His eye flickered to the letter in his hand before turning away again. “Ten to one it's some business,” he said with an air of studied casualness. “I'll go at once. You'll excuse me, Darcy?”

Darcy, scarcely able to contain himself, managed to wave him off. “Don't let me stop you, Charles.”

He watched Charles rise and, for a breath, hesitate over the letter in his hand, and then, with an oddly furtive glance at Darcy, he put it resolutely down on the table and left the room. The door closed behind him and apart from the footman, Darcy was alone with the letter.

For a man who had been raised to consider servants to be largely invisible, Darcy now found himself acutely aware of this added presence to the room. He himself was aware that there was something strange about the letter, and that even more strangely, it in some way connected to Bingley's mysterious guest. He could not be certain whether Charles wished him to be aware of it or not. That last glance in his direction would indicate not, but the fact of his leaving it behind where it might so easily be glanced at by a casual eye indicated something else altogether. Darcy, suffering acutely from curiosity and indecision, thought it scarcely possible that the footman should not also be aware of these complicated undercurrents and for a wild moment Darcy wondered if he had been positioned in the room not to serve at the meal, but instead to spy on Darcy and report back on his movements to Bingley.

Sanity reasserted itself, however. Apart from the evidence that a footman had always existed in the Grosvenor Street house at breakfast, there was also the less objective but just as tangible evidence of the reactions that Bingley had displayed upon the receipt of the letter and the arrival of the visitor. The letter might have been hoped for and expected, but it was clear that he had not known when, or perhaps even if it would eventually arrive. His air of acute despondence over the last two weeks when it had not appeared with his morning correspondence showed that he had been hoping for it, but it also, Darcy thought, betrayed a certain lack of confidence over its eventual appearance. He wondered if it was possible that Bingley had briefed the entire staff over the matter for this very eventuality, but he dismissed the notion at once. For one, any secret or strange request divulged to the staff a fortnight ago would almost certainly have made the rounds of the entire  _ton_ by now. And for another, Darcy simply could not imagine Charles possessing either such cunning or such forethought. Charles, while certainly not unintelligent, was wholly transparent, and any sly undertaking would have been revealed in its entirety five minutes after its first hatching.

As for the guest, it was clear by Bingley's first revealing glance that Davis' gentlemanly man was in some way a result of the letter. And if the letter had not been guaranteed to exist, then the contents could not have been known, and therefore the man could not have been expected, a fact amply borne out by Charles' initial hesitant reaction.

(The confused state of Darcy's mind can be suitably demonstrated by this feat of logic.)

The conclusion of these thoughts were to no avail, however. For even if he had come to a different conclusion at the end, the footman himself still existed and whether he was a spy for Bingley was beside the point, for even unprepared he would certainly notice and remark upon a guest of the house blatantly reading correspondence not meant for him. Not that Darcy meant to read the letter precisely. A glance was all he sought. A single glimpse of the opening greeting should be sufficient to indicate whether the letter was from a lover or otherwise.

He pondered the problem of the footman for several minutes, feeling as each second ticked past that he was losing his chance. Any second Charles might return, or Davis walk in, or the Hursts and Caroline appear for breakfast. Any interruption would mean doom and so uncharacteristically flustered was he that it was only some five minutes later that he was able to subdue his discomposed thoughts enough to realise that his problem came down to one simple thing: get rid of the footman.

Feeling as though there were hidden eyes observing his every move, he reached for the coffee pot and poured himself a fresh cup.

It was Darcy's intention at this point, upon replacing the pot on the table, to take a sip from his refilled cup, grimace in a way meant to indicate distaste, and then send the footman for a fresh pot.

Instead, Darcy's hand, shaken by nerves at this daring and underhanded plot, sloshed the pot sideways, and in his effort to steady it, his elbow knocked violently against his full cup and sent it flying across the table where it spillt its contents across Bingley's place and the linen paper of the letter, left haplessly in its path, soaked up the dark stain like a rag.

Darcy gave a shout of alarm and reached a desperate hand for it at the same moment that the footman sprang forward, hand outstretched with a similar intention. Two hands, clinging each to either edge, wrenched it out of the way and with hardly a gasp, the saturated paper tore neatly in two and hung dripping from two sets of hands while two mouths gaped in horror at the result.

It was at this moment that Charles returned.

“I have the most pressing need for a ride this morning, Darcy,” he was saying. There was a glow to his cheeks and a brightness to his eye that told an aghast Darcy that whoever his mysterious visitor had been, the visit itself had concluded very favourably for Charles. But the expression only lasted an instant. The next moment Charles had taken in the scene before him with its two players still frozen, the dripping remnants of his correspondence still severally in their hands.

His face turned red, then white, then another moment passed in stricken silence and everything became too much. Charles put his face in his hands and howled.

Darcy, scarcely more horrified by this than he was by what he had done, tried to drop the sodden letter to the table to go to him, but the wet paper clung to his fingers like glue. Finally succeeding in ridding himself of it, he turned to Charles, only to find him collapsed on a chair and doubled over. It took several seconds for Darcy to realise that he was prostrate not with any distress, but with laughter, and even as he realised it, Charles looked up and with a bright red face considerably dampened by tears of mirth, managed to choke out, “Your face, Darcy. My God--” before once more dissolving into laughter.

There was a choking sound from behind him and Darcy turned in time to see the footman's face hastily straightening itself into impassivity before bowing himself out of the room, only slightly pink in the face.

Feeling like one of nature's greatest fools, Darcy could only seat himself back at his place while the last gusts of Bingley's mirth blew themselves out and two footmen and Davis the butler appeared with a fresh cloth and new settings for those that had been ruined. By the time the spoiled items had been whisked away and a freshly laid table with a new pot of coffee put in their place, Bingley had managed to collect himself and Darcy was feeling the full embarrassment of his misadventure. What had ever tempted him to such a dishonourable trick he could not fathom. Mere curiosity could never be sufficient justification for the intimate and inexcusable betrayal he had been attempting. He was humiliated by how much a fool he had acted, but also in how far he had managed to forget himself. Charles' hysterical reaction to the ruination of the letter proved that whatever furtive motives Darcy had been attributing to him, they were all confined to his own imagination and the reality was very likely far otherwise. It was hardly unusual for Bingley to receive letters, nor unknown for him to receive visitors that an exacting butler would not designate a gentleman. It was entirely probable that the gentlemanly man was just as Bingley had said: some person on business. It was neither necessary nor desired that Bingley should consult Darcy on every point of his life. He was permitted to receive visitors just as he was permitted to have correspondence that Darcy knew nothing about. And to prove this newfound humility, he turned to Charles and said, “I apologise for ruining your letter with my clumsiness. I hope it was nothing irreplaceable.”

Charles, only just having managed to stop chuckling to himself, grinned anew at this reminder, but a moment later became more serious and offering Darcy an appraising look that sat oddly on his frank face said, “Nothing irreplaceable, no. Strange of you to be so cow-handed, however. Perhaps I should drive us next time we go out instead of letting you attempt to handle to reins for yourself.”

Darcy, flushing at this hit, allowed himself the dignity of silence and drank his coffee without spilling a drop.


End file.
